The Last Horcrux
by Stoneage Woman
Summary: AU. Chris Halliwell and Harry Potter are the sole hopes of two seperate worlds. Fate causes their paths to collide. Now they must fight together to save both their worlds...before it's too late. No slash.
1. Prologue

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've been thinking about doing this for ages. I always wanted to write a good HP/Charmed crossover, but though I had ideas for time to time, I didn't just want to write the story just so that I could see so that I could see the two universes clash. I needed a plot, and suddenly found one in a moment of inspiration. And so here I am.

I can promise that this fic will be different from most other HP/Charmed crossovers out there. First off, it's one of the few with Chris and not the Charmed Ones interacting with Harry and the gang. Secondly, as far as I know, it is the only crossover with Chris in it which does NOT ignore the fact that Chris is born around 2005 and Harry was born in the 1980's, so they are twenty-five years apart. I don't know if it is a peculiarity in me, but I cannot compromise the cannon of any fandom that far without feeling I've done a disservice to that fandom. The fic is set in the year 2025, when Chris is 20. It ignores the whole traveling-back-in-time-to-save-Wyatt scenario. In the story, Wyatt is just…evil. Full stop.

Please read and give me your comments; this is an experiment and in spite of the fact that I have typed out a complicated plot outline with all sorts of dates for all sorts of events so that I can integrate the two worlds without compromising the cannon of either of them, I'm really unsure about how this will be received and exactly where I'm going with this. (Rest assured I will finish it; I never leave fics unfinished). That said, I promise I'll never subject you to an author's note this long ever again, so sit back and enjoy the chapter!

…

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 1: Prologue

…

"Oh my- Harry! For Merlin's sake, wake up! You have _got _to come and see this."

Harry Potter, leader of the Order of the Phoenix, and youngest Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, groaned as his consciousness was dragged kicking and screaming from the realms of deepest slumber. Resisting the urge to turn over and go right back to sleep, he dragged himself across the room to see what had gotten Kingsley Shacklebolt, former Ministry of Magic employee, all hot and bothered.

"What the hell is it this time, Kingsley?" He asked tiredly, rubbing sleep from his eyes and leaned over the man's shoulder wearily to catch a better look of whatever it was the man was poring over. "And it had better be the end of bloody England, or there'll be hell to pay for waking me up…" His voice trailed off as his brain finally caught up with his eyes.

"Bloody hell!" He grabbed the map and scrutinized it frantically.

Shacklebolt nodded grimly. "Should I call a meeting?"

"_Please_," He said without looking up, barely noticing when a fireplace and a box of Floo powder appeared out of nowhere. He was, after all, completely used to it, having used the room for two decades. He bent over the map, blocking out everything else until he chanced to look up and found that the last members of the Order of the Phoenix were stepping out of the fireplace. None of them looked pleased at being roused from their sleep.

"Sorry to have woken you all, but something came up," Harry told them. _I need copies of this, fifty-five copies, _He thought, and the maps appeared in his hands. He began to pass them around. He glanced around the room again and realized it was getting a bit too crowded for comfort. _I need the room to be a little bigger…bit more…perfect. Oh, and a chair each for everyone as well…_As the room complied with his demands, he couldn't repress a brief moment of self-satisfaction. He still couldn't _believe_ that he was the first Headmaster to think of setting up office in the Room of Requirement. It was so very convenient; he knew that if any of the other Headmasters had known about the room, they would not have spent years in that circular _box_ of a room on the third floor.

"So, you mind telling us what this is about?" Someone asked, jerking him out of his thoughts. "What type of map is this?"

"H-map," He explained, "We've got a reading of Horcrux activity." There were exclamations of amazement and excitement all around. It was the first time in fifteen years that maps had given any indication of activity on the H-maps. It was a wonder Kingsley had even checked them, most of the Order considered them more or less redundant and rarely bothered to monitor them when they were on duty.

Ronald Weasley sucked in a breath as he studied the map. "_San Francisco?_" He asked, voicing what was going through everyone's heads. "That's…unexpected."

_To say the least._ Most of the Death Eater activity took place in Europe and sometimes in Asia, but never in America. The D-maps for USA had given no indication of Death Eater activity in over fifteen years. Everyone had just assumed that the Dark Lord was not interested in that part of the world, or that they had found a way to cloak or protect themselves from his power. Communications between Europe and America had been virtually non-existent for going fifteen years now, and even before the war, there had been little interaction between the two wizarding races. Harry could not help but feel grateful. He didn't think he could have coped if the weight of that world as well as this one had been placed on his shoulders.

"Are you sure the maps are even working anymore?" Hannah Macmillian asked, skepticism apparent in her voice. "What?" She added upon seeing Hermione Weasley and Remus Lupin bristle at her words. "I appreciate that you spent years working on them, and that if it wasn't for them we would never have found the other Horcruxes, but the maps haven't given us any readings for years! And now all of a sudden, _San Francisco?_ That isn't even a war-zone!"

"Perhaps not, but it will fast become one if what the map says is true," Ginny Potter interjected, folding her arms across her torso and looking seriously at everyone. "There are innocent people, civilians there, who might be in danger and we can offer them protection here. Merlin knows we have the resources. It's our duty to at least go and check if there's _some_ truth to this reading."

"Of course there's truth to the readings," Hermione snapped, unable to contain herself, "These maps never lie. Professor Lupin and I put the same enchantments on them that were used on the Marauder's Map, the only difference being that we made them read Horcrux activity and not where everyone is in Hogwarts."

"We've been over all this a million times," Remus added, "The maps work. End of story. What we have to worry about _now_ is the Horcrux activity. We've been looking for a lead like this for ages. We can't afford to waste time, there's a very small window before the Horcrux is moved again. And if, as Dumbledore suspected, it's Voldemort's snake, it will move as soon as it makes its kill."

"There's an Apparition point here," Harry told everyone, holding up the map and pointing to a spot within walking distance of Golden Gate Bridge. "It's not very far from where the Horcrux is."

"If it even _is_ a Horcrux," Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody muttered under his breath.

Harry ignored him. "Here's what we're going to do," He said, all business. "Ron, Professor Lupin and I will Apparate to San Francisco. I want Ginny and Hermione to monitor the P-maps for that area. And don't argue," He added as the two women drew themselves up in protest, "I'm _not_ risking more people on this mission, and there's nothing you can do to change my mind." Hermione and Ginny deflated, there was no point arguing with him when he was so decided. "Minimal magic, no engaging in combat, we just get in, assess the situation, and get out, hopefully unnoticed. Clear?"

Everyone nodded, and the room buzzed with activity as people took their posts, began to numerous types of enchanted maps, muttered into the two-way mirrors which every team leader possessed , and began to organize back-up. Harry felt no small amount of pride when he considered just how efficient they had all become. There was a time when he would have actually had to _direct_ them, and now they were doing everything necessary without his having to say a word.

"Come on," Harry muttered to his best friend. "Ready Professor Lupin?"

"Of course."

"Then let's go."

"Be careful!" Ginny and Hermione exclaimed in one breath, as they always did when their husbands went on missions even remotely risky.

"We will," Harry and Ron chorused, rolling their eyes at each other and giving their wives a swift kiss each before making their way to the fireplace. The exchange had become customary, a tradition. It was familiar and comforting.

Harry stepped into the fireplace and reappeared moments later in the Shrieking Shack, the Apparition point closest to Hogwarts, an ideal location accessible from the protected Hogwarts grounds and yet located in Hogsmeade outside the Anti-Apparition wards. He greeted the team posted there for the night-shift with a quick nod, and then unfolded the map, checking to see if the Horcrux had moved. Thankfully, it hadn't. Nodding to Ron and Remus as they stepped out of the fireplace, he closed his eyes and concentrated…and reappeared with a crack in San Francisco.

His jaw fell in shock as he took in his surroundings. All around them, there were signs of destruction and war. Smoking ruins, heaps of rubble and debris, buildings which looked as though they would crumble at the slightest provocation, main roads which had once been made of concrete, now broken, uneven paths of mud and rubble with chunks of cement and tar mixed in. It was a horrifying sight, ten times worse than any war-zone in Europe. More disturbing still, the Apparition point was completely out in the open, which meant that the building which at one point must have sheltered it had been destroyed. Not that there was any chance of discovery; there was not a sign of life to be seen anywhere.

"So much for America not being a war zone," Remus muttered under his breath

Ron snorted mirthlessly from behind them. "That's the biggest bloody understatement of the century."

Harry's heart clenched suddenly with sorrow and guilt. He should never have assumed that America was safe. So what if there had rarely been any communication or between the two wizarding communities even before the war? So what if he had all of Europe to worry about? He could have saved all these civilians if he had just bothered to _check._ Merlin knew Hogwarts had the resources necessary to shelter them. For the last ten years, it had frustrated him to no end that until they were unable to destroy the last Horcrux he would not be able to go up against Voldemort with the remotest chance of victory. Forced to lie low, he had wished fervently on more than one occasion that he could have saved more people, done _something_ more useful than sending teams on suicide missions to search for the missing Horcrux. To find out that all this time, he could have rescued these civilians, helping those who must have been trapped here…

He pushed away the thoughts; there was no sense in agonizing over something they could no longer help. He looked around, and was dismayed but not surprised when he was unable to locate any of the landmarks from the map, not even Golden Gate Bridge. Everything remotely recognizable had been destroyed. Whipping out his wand, he held it to where the Horcrux was marked on the map and muttered a quick Point-me spell. The pull of his wand was faint, but still there. Beside him, Ron and Remus cast the same spells and together they made their way, staying in the shadows and taking cover behind boulders as much as possible. Because it was a war-zone, they didn't dare to use any light, but a few burning buildings and a half moon worked as well as any Lumos spell so they were able to manage quite easily.

They had walked for fifteen minutes when a faint, but terrified scream split the air. They exchanged startled looks, coming to a stop. "_What the hell was that_?" Harry whispered, unnerved.

Ron shrugged, equally uneasy. "Sounded like a woman."

The pull from their wands had become stronger, indicating that they were nearing the place. Quickly, they cast Disillusionment Charms on each other, and, completely camouflaged by their surroundings, they crept forward without the fear of discovery. Another scream split the air, louder this time.

"Definitely a woman," Remus whispered, and swallowed, "And I can smell blood...and death." If Harry had not already been worried, he definitely would have been at thisn. Experience had taught him that Remus's werewolf instincts were rarely off the mark.

With and unpleasant sense of foreboding, they doubled behind one of the few buildings that were still standing. Judging by the pull in their wands, they were now a mere fifteen feet away from the Horcrux...as well as the person who had screamed.

They words, "Wyatt…_please_…" were said in hoarse, desperate tones. The raw anguish in that tone made all of them freeze where they were. Laughter filled the air, harsh and cruel, infinitely worse than Voldemort's in its callousness.

"You know what to do to stop me, Chris," said a voice, presumably Wyatt's. The note of definitive amusement in his tone reminded Harry of how Voldemrot had taunted him in that graveyard in his Fourth Year at Hogwarts. He shuddered. Another cry of pain was heard from the woman, accompanied by anguished, desperate sobs from the one who was pleading with Wyatt; Chris, had Wyatt called him?

"Wyatt…please…_don't_ _do this_… not Bianca, too…_please_…"

"Tell me where it is," Wyatt said in a bored tone, "And she lives. If not, then I'll give her the slowest, most painful death you can possibly imagine. A thousand times worse than the deaths I gave your uncles and aunts and cousins…enjoyable as those were. Do you want me to kill _her _as well, Christopher? The woman you love more than any other?"

Harry and his companions exchanged horrified looks as they realized what was happening. Harsh, desperate sobs mingled with anguished whimpers and cold, cruel laughter. It was all any of them could do to not intervene then and there.

"Chris _please_…" Bianca's voice hoarse with screaming; raw with agony, "It's only a goddamned _book._"

"Yes, Christopher," Wyatt's said, mimicking Bianca's desperate tones, "It's only a goddamned book. One you can't even read, at that. And you're sacrificing the one person you love more than any other…for a book?"

Chris did not answer, just began to whimper and sob in complete, raw anguish. Ron, unable to stand it anymore, whipped out his wand and muttered a Silencing Charm so they would not be heard.

"What the hell are you doing?" Remus hissed, "He could have easily sensed that! Or did you not _sense_ how powerful he is?"

Ron ignored him. "We can't just sit here and do nothing," He said to Harry, pleadingly.

"He's too powerful," Harry replied, with infinite regret. "Much as I want to, there's no way we can take him on. His magical aura…it's even more powerful than Voldemort's. We'd be killed in an instant."

"That's not possible," Ron argued, "No one can be-"

He was cut off by another scream and more sobbing from Chris.

"Are you sure we can't take him on? Three fully-trained, powerful wizards…"

Two decades ago, Harry reflected grimly, he would have jumped right in to the fight without pausing a moment to think about the possible repercussions. Now, at forty-five, he was a lot less impetuous, and a _lot_ more experienced. As much as it killed him, they could _do nothing_. Decades of experience in magical battles and a special talent at Defence Agains the Dark Arts had made him more sensitive to magic than almost anyone else in the Order. He could sense the auras of all three people present and he could also sense that both Wyatt and Chris were more powerful than anything he'd ever encountered. There was no way the three of them could take on Wyatt. Not when Chris himself been overpowered.

"I'm sure," He said, hating himself for saying the words that condemned Bianca to a slow, painful death…and Chris to the most unimaginable anguish. "We'd be dead in a heartbeat, Ron."

Resigned, they sat there, each praying desperately that Chris would not break. The torture went on for a full two hours more, unbearably long and agonizing to bear witness to. Harry had never felt more helpless in his life. He did not dare to perform anymore magic or move from their position for fear of being detected. As it was, they were just stuck there, listening yet unable to do anything. He was not sure which was more harrowing to listen to; Bianca's screams and her desperate pleas to Chris and Wyatt, or Chris's anguished but staunch _refusal_ to back down. Harry found himself close to tears at several points. He knew that if it was him in Chris's position and Ginny in Bianca's, he would have been incapable of resisting. As time passed, Wyatt became more and more furious and more and more violent in his tortures, but it was clear that Chris was not going to back down.

With an exclamation of disgust, he shouted, "Excalibur!" There was a tone of finality in his voice which made everyone's blood freeze.

"NOOOO!" Chris shouted desperately, clearly in response to whatever it was Wyatt had said. There was a sound of metal cutting through flesh bone, a prolonged scream from Bianca, and then…silence.

"You bastard!" Chris shouted, voice rent with unimaginable grief, "You fucking _bastard_; now I'll never tell you anything-"

He was cut off by an angry roar. "You dare to defy me? You will pay!" Wyatt thundered. There were two loud cracks, the unmistakable sounds of bones breaking, and Chris cried out in agony. "Now you can't walk," Wyatt said over Chris' hysterical sobbing, "And you can't orb, either, I've cloaked the place. Oh, and, don't even _think_ of calling anyone, they won't be able to hear you." He laughed cruelly, "Oh, little Christopher, so very brave…I wonder how brave you will be if I leave you here for a week? How brave, when you lie here starving and alone, surrounding by the rotting corpses of your beloved family…"

Chris interrupted him, but his voice had been reduced to a whisper from the sobbing, so they could not hear what he'd said. Whatever it was, it caused Wyatt the greatest amusement. His laughter rang in the air again, making Harry and his companions cringe in fear and disgust.

"No, Christopher, they are not," He replied coolly, "I would not have killed them if I still considered them to be, would I? The truth is, I have no family. Now, you can stay here with their corpses, with your guilt, and when I come back in a week's time, you will be begging me for death, never mind keeping any secrets."

"I will never beg you for anything again, you bastard!" Chris shouted, his voce broken and cracked and hoarse, but full of conviction, "There's nothing left for me to beg for!"

"We'll see," came the unconcerned reply.

A moment later…and Wyatt was gone. They could no longer sense his magical aura. All that was left were Chris's pain-filled whimpers and sobs. Exchanging looks, the three companions crept out of their hiding place.

The sight that met them would be etched in their minds for all eternity. The ground was _littered_ with corpses, and it was clear from the blood and their marred and bruised flesh that their deaths had been long and painful. When he drew nearer, he had to swallow back a wave of nausea upon realizing them that some of the bodies belonged to _children_. A lone figure was slumped against a broken wall, his face in his hands, his entire demeanor racked with sobs. He was muttering unintelligibly under his breath. Both his legs were broken, and it was clear that he could not walk. When he leaned his head back against the wall as if desperately searching for something, _anything_, they got their first glimpse of the face of the man who had gained their absolute respect and admiration in the course of that horror-filled two hours. Harry stopped in his tracks at the sight of that face. There were red, angry bags beneath brilliant green eyes, swollen to twice their normal size from incessant weeping. Cheeks were stained with dust and tears and marred with bruises, and a face was covered with fingernail marks where the man had clutched at in sheer desperation. He had bitten through his lip, the blood from it staining his shirt.s But what shook Harry most of all was the fact that the man in front of him, was…was just a _boy_. Not much older than his daughter; certainly not a day over twenty…Far too young to have endured something like _this_.

Suddenly the boy stiffened. "Who's there?" He called out, but it sounded more like a raspy whisper. "Show yourself!"

Not wanting to cause him any more distress, Harry cancelled the Disillusionment Charm so he could see him. _Big_ mistake The moment he was visible, the boy waved his hand and Harry suddenly found himself flying through the air. He collided hard with a wall, and lay there for a second, dazed. Chris raised his hand again, but Remus beat him to it.

"_Stupefy!" _

Caught by surprise by an unseen attacker, Chris could do nothing to defend himself. He slumped to the ground, unconscious. "Harry? You okay, mate?" Ron asked anxiously.

"Fine, just a bit winded" Harry replied, squinting at Ron's dark outline until he too cancelled the Disillusionment Charm and became visible, "I should have warned him I wasn't a threat. Stupid." He rose and dusted himself off, disgusted with himself for doing something so stupid when he had _sensed_ how powerful Chris was. _Mad-Eye would have my head for that. Constant vigilance indeed._

"How the hell did he _do_ that, anyway?" Ron asked, "I've never seen wandless magic _that_ powerful before…"

"Oh, no," Remus muttered from behind them.

"What?"

"The Horcrux has vanished. I can't get a reading off this map. I think it disappeared right when Wyatt disappeared. He must have had it with him."

"Great," Harry muttered, thoroughly displeased, "Fan-bloody-tastic. _Mobilicorpus,_" He added, pointing his wand at Chris's form, so that it floated up off the ground. "There's no use staying here, now that it's gone. We have to get him to Madam Pomefry. I don't care about the rules," He added as Remus opened his mouth. "There's no way I'm leaving him here. We're taking him to Hogwarts. End of story."

"I wasn't going to say anything about the rules," Remus replied, "I'm not leaving him here either. Let's just get to that Apparition point before he regains consciousness."

"Wait," Harry said suddenly, as his gaze caught something. "Is that…Bianca?" He nodded towards one of the corpses. It was the only one which still had fresh blood flowing from it, and also, from the looks of it, the one that had endured the most torture.

"Yes, I think it is," Ron replied, looking ill. "What are you doing?" He asked in surprise as Harry approached the body of the young woman, at the same time keeping his wand trained on Chris so that he wouldn't fall. He sank to his knees beside the corpse and groped at one of its lifeless hands. Swallowing a wave of nausea when he saw that three of her fingers were broken and one of them had been severed off completely, he gently slid the engagement ring off her ring finger, and pocketed it almost reverently.

"To give to him," He explained quietly, and Ron nodded solemnly, averting his eyes.

Without another word, they began to walk. Dazed and overwhelmed, they were completely silent for the length of the twenty minute trip, their eyes focused on the still form of the brave young man floating before them, trying desperately to ignore the fact that the boy looked more dead than alive.

…

TBC…

Next chapter, Chris wakes up in the Hogwarts Infirmary, and the people from the two worlds are formally introduced. Loads of Chris angst up ahead as well! Read and review, please:D


	2. These Times We Live In

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 2: These Times We Live In

…

When Chris finally came to, he was more than a little surprised to find that he was comfortable, warm and in a soft bed rather than of freezing cold and in considerable pain. He was also surprised that, instead of the uneasy silence of San Francisco city, he seemed to be surrounded by two people in the midst of a very heated, very _loud_ argument.

"You should not have brought him! He could kill us all in a second if he wanted to; can't you _sense_ how powerful he is, even when incapacitated? He could very well be a Death Eater!"

"Moody, that is _the_ most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say. A Death Eater? Do you _see_ any Dark Mark on his arm?! And aren't you the one who always says you can sense Dark Magic? Honestly, sometimes I wonder…"

"Be that as it may, Potter, it still never hurts to be-"

"-vigilant, yes Moody, I know, I've only heard it a million times. But you weren't _there_. You didn't see how hard he resisted that…monster. Wyatt." Chris's eyes shot open at the mention of his brother's name. _What the hell…?_

"This is _not _a Dark wizard," the man continued on his rant, "And evil or no, I couldn't have just left him there with the corpses of his family! I mean for Merlin's sake, I have a heart!"

_Corpses? Family? _The memories of the previous night came flooding back and he sat bolt upright with a shuddering gasp, effectively cutting off all conversation. "Oh God," He whispered, as the full meaning of what had happened hit him, "No…" He buried his face in his hands and began to rock back and forth in grief and guilt. _His family…_ And amazingly enough, he couldn't shed a tear. He'd cried himself all out.

"Chris?" a voice interrupted his bitter grief, full of concern.

He lowered his hands from his face and saw a bespectacled man with black hair and green eyes and a lightening shaped scar on his forehead. He recognized him instantly as the one who'd just…appeared out of nowhere the night before. Next to him was another, older man with a heavily scarred face and the most bizarre glass eye he'd ever seen in his life. Almost on reflex, he waved his hand, and telekinetically pinned both men to the wall, though not so forcefully as to hurt them.

"Who the hell are you; where am I, and how do you know my name?" He asked, his voice menacing in spite of the fact that it was hoarse and cracked and he felt like he was speaking past a rock lodged in his throat. His eyes narrowed. "Are you one of Wyatt's minions?"

"What did I _tell_ you, Potter! You can't just go picking people off the streets! You're going to get us both killed," growled the older man, clearly disgruntled by the fact that he was pinned to a wall and helpless. Chris shuddered inwardly as the (revolving?) eye was fixed beadily on him.

The one called Potter was unfazed by his companion's display of anger. "Oh, shut it, Moody," he said impatiently, before turning to Chris, "I'm Harry Potter, and no, I do not work for that…monster. I know your name because we were there when Wyatt killed..." He faltered as a brief flash of pain flitted across Chris's face. He rephrased, "We witnessed what happened last night. When he finally left," we brought you here."

Chris glanced around, taking in the pristine, white room, and the rows of unoccupied beds. An infirmary. That would explain why he wasn't in any pain. Cautiously, he lowered his hand, and released them both. "And where exactly is here?" He asked warily.

"In Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Harry answered, ignoring Moody's angry muttering at this revelation. "It's a school for magical people, as well as a safe haven for Muggles and wizarding civilians. It's in Scotland," He added at Chris's blank look.

Chris nodded. That would explain the British accents. He looked around the room again, and tried experimentally to orb outside the door. His eyes widened when he realized that he was being blocked. "Why can't I orb?" He asked, immediately suspicious of the man's intentions.

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked, not understanding the question.

"Why can't I leave- this room?" Chris rephrased through gritted teeth. He was fast losing patience. He needed to get back to the Resistance. Now that his whole family was gone (he swallowed back his grief at the thought; now wasn't the time or place), he was the only thing standing between them and Wyatt. He needed to get back home and fortify all the safe-houses before Wyatt tried to breach them. And if he couldn't orb…He shook the thought off. He would _make _them lift the spell if he had to torture them. _Torture._ The world recalled the events of the previous night, and he shuddered. _Gods._

"We put a spell on the room so you wouldn't be able to leave until we questioned you," Harry explained, his voice tentative, "Though how you'd know that without trying the door is beyond me."

Chris eyed the man, trying to determine if he was lying. He was definitely magical; his white-lighter sense could feel it…so how could he not know what orbing was? And Moody looked just as confused. "Never mind that," He said in reply to the question, "Just please, let me out of this room so I can be on my way. While I'm grateful to you for rescuing me, there are things I need to attend to."

"I'm afraid I can't," Harry replied, sounding genuinely apologetic. "It's a matter of policy that as much as I trust you _personally_, I have to question you before I can let you go."

"There is no way you are going to get anything out of me any way," Chris said flatly, "So if you value your life at all, you'll let me go."

"I'm sorry, I can't. I've already broken the rules by bringing you here in the first place. We're living in times of war, and such measures are necessary. I'm sorry."

"And if I don't answer you the first time around, do you really think I'll break whatever you put me through?" Chris snorted derisively, mirthlessly. "I didn't break when my family was tortured and killed before me; I'm hardly going to tell you anything no matter _what_ you do to me!"

"What? We're not going to torture you!" Harry exclaimed, shocked that the boy would think that. "That isn't our way!"

"Yes well, whatever you do, I'm still not going to-"

"_Pertrificus Totalis!" _Moody shouted, and Chris's arms snapped to his sides as he fell forward onto the floor, unable to move.

"Moody, for Merlin's sake! You could have at least let me reason with him before you did that," He heard Harry exclaim angrily from somewhere above him

"Well he wasn't exactly backing down! Do you really think he'd have drunk the Potion if you'd just _given_ it to him?"

Muttering under his breath but unable to deny the truth in Moody's words, Harry knelt beside Chris and turned him over on to his back. "I'm going to give you a Truth Potion, called Veritaserum," He explained, "I wish I didn't have to do this, but I have the weight of a world on my shoulders. I can't in good conscience trust you as my instincts bid me to, without questioning you first. I'm sorry." He rummaged in his robes, and brought out a small vial of clear liquid. Forcing the younger man's mouth open with his fingers, he poured the liquid down his throat.

Immediately, Chris's awareness of his surroundings began to slip. It was as though he could see and hear Harry from a great distance. He felt sluggish and disoriented, and when Harry waved his wand and cancelled the spell, he could not find the will to try and escape in spite of the fact that he could now move.

"What is your name?" He heard Harry's voice echo in his mind, and found words escaping his mouth against his will.

"Christopher Perry Haliwell."

"Do you work for Voldemort?"

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he had no time to dwell on this before his mouth opened again. "No," He replied in a flat, monotonous voice, "I work for no one. I don't even know who Voldemort is."

Harry regarded him for a moment, and then nodded, apparently satisfied by the answer. "Who was the man who tortured and killed your family yesterday and what did he want from you?"

"His name is Wyatt Matthew Haliwell, and he-"

"Haliwell?" Harry interrupted, and Moody swore behind him. "He's _related_ to you?"

"He's my brother."

"Merlin," Harry breathed, utterly shocked. "So…he was killing his own family?" He asked, reeling at the implications. When Chris responded in the positive, he found himself barely able to breathe as he realized the full extent of the horror the young man had been put through. "_Why?_" He said, horrified, "Why would he do something like that?'

The Potion compelled Chris to take the question literally. "He wanted me to disclose the location of a book," He replied.

"Why did he want the book?"

"I don't know."

"What's the book called?"

"I don't know. It's in a script I can't read it."

"If you can't read it, and if you don't know why he wants it, then why the hell didn't you just tell him where it was?" Moody shot at him suddenly, watching him with a narrowed gaze. As Harry had been wondering the same thing, he didn't grudge the interruption.

"I didn't tell him where it is because it's located at one of the Resistance safe-houses. One of the largest, actually; it shelters seven hundred innocents. If I had told Wyatt the location of the book, he would have killed all of them…In fact, since all the Resistance safe-houses are inter-connected, five thousand innocents and three thousand magical beings would have been _massacred_, and I could not let that happen. No matter what the cost."

"What exactly is this Resistance?" Harry asked, though he could guess.

"It is a group of magical beings dedicated to protecting innocents and bringing down Wyatt. I am their leader."

"What?" Moody asked incredulously, "You, a man merely out of his teens are responsible for the life of _eight thousand_ people?!"

"Of course he does," Harry interjected quietly. "He has that look about him, like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I know that look. Two decades ago, I was exactly where he is today. Barely out of my teens and shouldering the weight of a word on my shoulders."

Chris remained silent, and wonder of wonders, so did Moody; there was nothing he could say to argue with that. Harry eyed the younger man appraisingly. "Why did you want to leave here so quickly?" He asked after a long pause. "Is something wrong? Are you in any danger?"

"Now that Wyatt has killed my family, the enchantments on most of the safe-houses have been considerably weakened," Chris replied, his voice expressionless, "I have to get back and recast them before Wyatt thinks to attack us."

"Do you need help?" Harry asked quietly, "Resources, medicines, food, clothing, magical help, _anything_?"

"Yes, all of it. Desperately."

Harry nodded, unsurprised. San Francisco was in complete shambles, so _of course_ Chris wouldn't we able to just drive to a department store or to a chemist and buy the supplies he needed. He wondered how the Resistance had managed for as long as they had. Satisfied by the interrogation, he rummaged in his robes for the antidote, and handed it to Chris, who, with his wits dulled as they were by the Potion, drank it without a question.

Harry watched as awareness slowly returned to Chris's face and his gaze sharpened and regained its focus. "Let me help you," He offered once he was sure the man was completely in possession of his wits, "We have the resources here, whatever you need. We can protect your civilians. We can give you everything you need."

"How do you expect me to believe you?" Chris asked, his tone making it clear that he wanted to do so, desperately. "How do you expect me to trust perfect strangers with the lives which have been my responsibility for years on end? I don't even know who you _are_, or what the hell you want." He waved his hand at the pair exhaustedly, almost casually, and pinned them both against the wall once more, his mind already furiously at work on a vanquishing spell.

"You do realize that given what you know, I would have no choice but to kill you," He continued quietly, "Much as I didn't want to, unless you proved to me beyond doubt that you were an ally and not a threat, I would have no choice." He locked his gaze with Harry's, his green eyes intense and penetrating. The silence was heavy, tangible as his words sank in. No one was left in any doubt that the boy was more than capable of following through on his threat, if forced. He would not want to kill his rescuers, but he would be compelled.

_These times we live in_, Harry thought, not for the first time angry at what the world had come to. Even making an _alliance _was so fucking hard.

"If you killed us, fifty trained wizards would be down on you in one instant," Moody stated, but his words were not a threat. He knew the threat of dying wouldn't deter a man who had passively watched his family die to save those he was protecting.

"I can take the Potion," Harry said softly, struck by a sudden idea. His eyes brightened as he abruptly hit upon the solution. "Then you can question me, and know for sure that you can trust me." He looked intently at Chris, who looked completely taken aback by the unexpected offer.

He was not the only one whom Harry had rendered speechless. Moody spluttered for a few seconds in pure outrage, before he gained coherence to start yelling. "Potter! Are you completely _deranged?! _You can't just throw yourself at the mercy of- just anyone- in that manner!"

"It's either that or be killed," Chris interjected quietly. He hesitated and then implored Moody desperately, "Please don't make me kill you."

The heartfelt plea could have melted a heart of stone. Grumbling, but resigned, the wizard rummaged in his pockets and extracted a vial identical to the one Harry had used on Chris earlier. He handed it to Harry reluctantly, who wasted no time in downing its contents. Instantly, his awareness faded and his gaze became blank and unfocussed. Moody steered him by his shoulders and sat him down on one of the infirmary beds.

Chris walked forward slowly; suddenly uncertain about exactly how to proceed. Finally, just to see that the Potion was working, he asked, "What is your name?"

"Harry James Potter," the man replied, with such a supreme lack of expression that it left Chris in no doubt that the Potion was working as it was supposed to.

"Do you work for Wyatt?" He asked Harry.

"No, I don't."

"Why were you in San Francisco last night? Did you just happen to pass by while we were having our little- _family reunion?_" He snorted at the thought.

"We got a reading of Horcrux activity on an enchanted map of San Francisco, for the first time in fifteen years. So of course we followed it; and it lead us to where you were. When we sensed how powerful Wyatt was, we were helpless to intervene, and we didn't dare to move or use magic and risk being caught."

"You were following, _what _exactly?!" Chris asked, confused.

"A Horcrux," Harry corrected him, "It's a piece of Voldemort's soul."

"And who exactly is this Voldemort?" Chris asked, suddenly wary. The name seemed so _familiar._

"He's a Dark wizard," Harry replied, "The most powerful one of our time. He killed the most powerful good Wizard ever born, Dumbledore, in 1997, and has been waging a war on us ever since. He has taken over half the world; Europe, and Asia, and Australia as well. He used Dark magic to break his own soul into seven pieces and he bound each piece to an object, called a Horcrux. We can't destroy him until all the Horcruxes are destroyed, and Wyatt apparently has the last one. It disappeared off the map the same moment that he disappeared last night, so there's no other explanation."

Chris eyed the man in front of him, unsettled by the news that his brother had a piece of an extremely evil and powerful wizard's _soul_ with him. As if his brother wasn't screwed up enough to begin with, without this as well. "You said you could help us," He asked, changing the subject, "What did you mean by that? What exactly can you do for us?"

"It depends on how much you need. We can give you as much food, clothing, and medicine as you could possibly want. We can connect your network of safe-houses to Hogwarts and extend the enchantments over it to protect them as well. We could even relocate the entire Resistance to this place."

"Wait, you're not serious!" Chris exclaimed in disbelief, "You mean to tell me that you have the resources to shelter and care for eight thousand people- in one place?!"

"It's a castle, so yes, of course we do," Harry replied, "It's chock full of corridors and empty classrooms and hidden networks of passages behind unobtrusive tapestries, and private dining rooms, and Common Rooms, and an enormous kitchen, and-"

"Alright, alright, I get it," Chris said hurriedly, interrupting what was promising to be a full-fledged monologue. He eyed Harry for a moment, wondering how much he could believe. The whole thing sounded too good to be true…but God knew he was due for a bit of luck.

Coming to a decision, he turned to Moody who had been waiting rather impatiently at his left and instructed him to give him the antidote. Relieved, Moody stepped forward, and handed another vial to Harry, who drank it without question.

There was a moment of silence while Harry shook off the Potion's effects, then rose to his feet. He turned to Chris, and asked quietly, "Is that enough proof for you?"

"Yes," Chris replied after a moment's hesitation, "Thank you, for saving my life last night, and I'm sorry I didn't trust you before."

Harry merely shook his head, dismissing the words. "Will you accept my help for your Resistance?" He asked instead.

Chris hesitated for a moment, not wanting to accept help from a perfect stranger, but knowing he had no choice. "Yes."

Harry's face split into a brilliant smile. "Excellent," He enthused, but Chris was not quite finished.

"Once the Resistance is safe," He told them, "We can work together to find out what that Horcrux has to do with my brother, and hopefully, we can find and destroy it." Harry studied him for a second before nodding in agreement, feeling a burst of hope lighten his heart for the first time in years.

"And after that," Chris said, his green eyes boring into Harry's with frightening intensity, "I can help you destroy your Dark Wizard."

Harry's smile faded at this. "You don't need to," He said, as he realized why the man was offering his assistance, "You don't have to repay our kindness, it's not like you owe us anything…"

"Yes, I do," Chris replied. "You'll realize exactly how much you become more familiar with our exact circumstances. And besides," He added, cutting off Harry's protests and questions, "I think you're going to need my help."

"And why is that?"

"Because I have a feeling that Wyatt's fate and Voldemort's fate are inextricably linked." He glared at the wall, "Why else would the name 'Voldemort' be so familiar? I think your Dark Lord has encountered my family before, and I'm going to check every book we managed to salvage from Magic School. " He looked Harry straight in the eyes, his green eyes glittering with shocking intensity. "And if I _am_ right, if Voldemort and Wyatt are working together, then you're going to need all the help you can get, because I'm the only one who can help you stop my brother."

…

TBC…

Hope you liked it. I was completely amazed (and delighted) by the response I got for the last chapter- eight reviews is the most I've ever received for just one chapter. Thank you all for reviewing, I appreciate it. For those of you who are waiting for me to update Until We Reach Valinor, not to worry. I've written the eighteenth chapter and have sent it to be beta-read. It should be up soon. Ta! Please review!


	3. Introductions

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 3: Introductions

…

"Harry James Potter, I am going to _kill_ you!" Ginny Potter flew into the infirmary and straight into her husband's arms without acknowledging anyone else. "I have been up all night, worried sick, and then I find out from Ron that you've been here for four hours already and you didn't even _tell me!_ Have you any idea how-" She broke off as she suddenly noticed Chris's presence. "Who's this?"

"Ron didn't tell you?" Harry asked, not wanting to force the man to relive what had happened by explaining it when he was there.

"No," replied the red-head, having the grace to look sheepish, "But I think he may have been trying to before I rushed off in the middle of our conversation to find you." She eyed Chris curiously, who stared right back at her with a guarded gaze.

"This is Chris Haliwell," Harry told her, finally remembering to make the introductions; "We picked him up from San Francisco. He was injured and I was waiting for him all this time. I'll brief you later with the rest of the Order," He added before Ginny could ask anymore questions. The last thing he wanted was to force Chris to relive what had happened last night. He turned to Chris, "And this is my wife, Ginny Potter."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Chris replied politely.

"Ginny is fine, if you please. I prefer not to be reminded of my age as far as possible" Ginny laughed at her own joke, before frowning. "Whatever happened to your voice?"

"It's a long story," Chris muttered hoarsely, though honestly, he had no idea what was wrong with his voice. It felt like there was a rock lodged firmly above his Adams Apple. "I don't mean to sound rude," He said, turning to Harry, "But I think we should decide what to about the Resistance as soon as possible. Wyatt will soon figure that the only reason I protected that book was because I was protecting innocents. And I don't want him attacking them when they're vulnerable…"

"Of course not," Harry nodded in agreement, marveling at the man's ability to push everything that had happened aside and focus on what he needed to do next. "You're going to have to tell us exactly what kind of assistance you want us to give you, and I know you'll need time to think about what's best. In the meantime, why don't we have breakfast?"

Chris frowned; he really wanted to get back to base quickly, but he knew that he would need to see the castle and decide for himself whether Harry and his friends were capable of giving him the assistance he needed. So he nodded, and muttered with obvious displeasure, "As soon as _Moody_ undoes the enchantment on this room."

Harry chuckled ruefully, "I'd forgotten about that. He made the spell really strong, that's why it's taking him so long to undo it. The old man's completely paranoid; always has been and probably always will be. I _told _him he didn't need to take such extreme measures, but _no_, when will he ever respect my authority?" He shook his head, "Stubborn old man."

At that moment, the stubborn old man himself appeared at the door. "It's done," He told Chris tersely.

Chris shot him a dirty look, and then orbed and re-materialized right behind him in a swirl of blue and white lights. The man was so startled that he nearly jumped out of his skin. Chris smirked at everyone's shell-shocked expressions and waited for the inevitable question. Sure enough…

"How the _hell _did you do that?" Ginny asked in amazement.

"It's called orbing; it's one of my white-lighter powers," He explained, "It allows you to materialize in and out of places at will," He eyed everyone glanced around, confused as to why they were looking more horrified than amazed. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"You're not supposed to be able to Apparate inside and outside of Hogwarts," Harry explained in a dismayed tone, "Its part of what protects us from attacks from Voldemort, and now you…"

"But I didn't _Apparate_, whatever that is," Chris pointed out, "I _orbed._ And if your enchantments can't even keep random people from orbing or shimmering in and out of here, then it's a wonder you weren't obliterated by Wyatt years ago."

"I know," Harry said, shaken by the revelation that the defenses which he had spent _years_ to build up could have been penetrated in a second.

Chris watched the older man's face carefully before saying with obvious reluctance, "We could always cast the spell we put on all the Resistance safe-houses," He paused, knowing that what he was giving away could sign the death warrant of everyone he was protecting if it fell in the wrong hands. "It allows Resistance members and those accompanying them to orb in and out but blocks everybody else. It will require a great deal of magical energy, but if you help us it will be the _very least _I can do."

"Thank you," Harry replied, relieved. He glanced at his watch. "If we want to get any breakfast we'd better get down to the Hall right now. We only have half an hour."

…

Chris had not walked very far before all his doubts about whether eight thousand people could be accommodated here were a thing of the past. Harry had _not_ been exaggerating when he'd described the size of this place, as the labyrinth of corridors which he could glimpse at every turn revealed it to be even bigger than Magic School had been before it was destroyed by Wyatt. When the reached the top of the Grand Staircase and got a full view of how many stories the place had, he could no longer contain his amazement. "This…this place is _huge!_" He exclaimed, open-mouthed.

Harry snorted, unable to count how many times he'd heard that line from a new-comer. And what Chris could see was the tip of the ice-berg. Even after decades of living here, the place still surprised him. "You have no idea," He told Chris wryly.

They made their way down the stairs and were standing right before the double-door entrance before Chris caught his first glimpse of Great Hall. He stopped short, his eyes taking in the hundreds of floating candles hanging above the ridiculously long tables, the golden plates and goblets, the abundant food, and the roaring fire. The place exuded luxury and comfort and warmth. The smell of food should have been appetizing, but Chris found to his dismay that it was making his stomach turn because of how long it had been since he had eaten a decent meal. He was flooded by the familiar waves of guilt and pain which always came when he was reminded of his inability to provide adequately for the Resistance and he swallowed painfully.

"Chris?" Ginny called from behind him. "You're blocking the way."

He turned slowly, unable to stand the smell, his turbulent eyes and tense posture instantly alerting the couple that something was wrong. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring but the scent of food nearly overwhelmed him again and he clamped it shut hastily. _Damn it._

"Chris, what is it?" Harry asked in a voice laced with concern.

"I…" was as far as he got before the nausea returned with a vengeance. He pressed a hand to his mouth and bolted past a startled Ginny and Harry, making a beeline for the nearest window. He stuck his head out and inhaled the cool, crisp air, fighting the urge to vomit. Luckily, now that he could no longer smell the food, his stomach calmed somewhat and he was able to slump exhaustedly against the window.

A hand touched his shoulder, making him start before he realized it was Harry. "Are you alright?" The man asked, still sounding incredibly concerned for a perfect stranger.

"Yeah, fine," he replied curtly, running a trembling hand through his hair, and slumping against the wall for support as his brain finally caught up with his weak, starved body and the adrenaline which had been keeping him going up till this point ran out suddenly. He sighed. "I just- He searched for the most euphemistic way of describing his condition. "It's just been a _really_ long time since I ate anything, and my stomach couldn't handle the smell."

Harry's expression turned swiftly from concern to horror. His eyes swept over Chris's frame, suddenly realizing that his first impression of a scrawny young man was completely inaccurate; the man was absolutely _skeletal._ The lose clothes could no longer hide it now that he was looking more closely. "God," He whispered, and then paled as Chris's words echoed in his mind. _Our situation…is bad_, the boy had said with a suppressed shudder, but he hadn't comprehended the extent of the understatement until now. "The Resistance…" He said faintly, "Are they…"

Chris squeezed his eyes shut as though in physical pain. "I haven't been able to provide for them," He said, the relentless burden of his duties transforming his young features until he looked as care-worn as Harry himself.

"Exactly how bad is the situation?" The older man asked, fearing the answer.

"Bad," The younger man answered, his voice cracking on the word. "Wyatt managed to mutate the demons so that they no longer needed to feed. I think he wanted to annihilate us and couldn't think of a longer and more torturous way," He smiled mirthlessly, "He destroyed all the fields, all the supply depots, killed half of our suppliers before we managed to rescue the rest…"

"When did this happen?" Harry interrupted, once again dreading the answer.

"A few months ago," Chris whispered, turning to Harry with an anguished expression. "I haven't even been able to feed them three meals a day," His voice escalated as he poured out the nightmare which had occupied his every waking thought for months on end. "_Everything_ is rationed, even the goddamn water!" He ran a trembling hand through his hair, and allowed himself to sink exhaustedly to the floor before continuing in a tone of quiet despair. "There's no running water, so our sanitation sucks. Everyone who is non-magical is either suffering from cholera or typhoid or worse," His voice rose again, "People have been dropping like flies! In the past few weeks, we've already lost four hundred, and _every day_ more people fall sick, and we have no way of treating them, no way to even _re-hydrate_ the cholera victims because there's not enough water, and no medicine to speak off…"

As Chris leaned his head back against the wall, all of Harry's paternal instincts kicked in at the expression on his face, like that of a lost child's. He inwardly cursed Moody for refusing to let him call Madam Pomefry to treat Chris. Moody hadn't wanted to let the knowledge of Chris's presence at Hogwarts to extend beyond the Order until they were absolutely certain he wasn't a threat, and although Harry had tried to convince the obstinate man that Pomefry had been a trusted member of the school for decades he had refused point blank. So Harry had healed Chris's physical injuries using a Bone Mending Potion and a basic healing spell, but had not thought to check his vital signs or body weight as Pomefry would have done.

He crouched beside Chris and placed an awkward hand on his shoulder. "You have to eat something," He told him gently.

"If I eat even a morsel, I'll throw it up in seconds," Chris protested flatly.

"Well then, I can give you a Potion to settle your stomach," Harry replied in a tone which allowed for no argument, "All you have to do is orb us both to the Infirmary…if you're up to it, of course."

Chris hesitated for a long moment, battling between his guilt at the prospect of a hearty meal while being unable to provide the lives he was responsible for the same and his common sense. Finally realizing that he would need the strength if he was to organize and implement an evacuation operation, he took Harry's pro-offered hand, pulled himself to his feet and orbed the both of them to the Infirmary. He collapsed on a bed, surprised by how drained he felt at the effort. So he really _had _been running on adrenalin the last few days. He had suspected it was so but…he'd never thought it was _this _bad.

Harry handed him a Revitalizing Potion and then an Anti-Nausea Potion, neither of which tasted even remotely pleasant, but he still felt better than he had in days.

"Better?" Harry asked, and he nodded.

The older man frowned and scrutinized him closely, and Chris was suddenly struck by how paternal the man was acting towards him, much more so than Leo had ever done. He had decided a long time ago that he didn't need a father, but the compassion in Harry's eyes, as well as what he had said about being in the same position as Chris at his age was making him reconsider. Most of the people he knew either feared or revered him. He had very few friends, and no father figures to speak of. There had, of course, been his uncles (he swallowed at the effort it took to think of them in past tense), but they had had their own families without having to worry about _him._ Besides, he was outwardly so self-possessed and confident that everyone normally thought he was okay. Harry was the first person he'd met who seemed to understand the burden of the duty he was constantly faced with and he found himself instantly warming to the man as a result.

"Shall we orb down now?" Harry's voice cut into his thoughts. He stood and orbed them both down to the Great Hall. He was once again amazed by the amount and variety of food; there was everything from porridge to doughnuts. He chanced to look up and gaped in amazement to find a cloudless sky with a sun shining beatifically over his head instead of a ceiling.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," Harry explained from behind him, and marveled that they were able to use magic for such aesthetic purposes. For him, magic had always been about saving innocents or killing demons. Anything else was labeled personal gain, but apparently those rules didn't apply in this world.

He glanced around and noted with some surprise the variety of people in the Hall. Harry had said it was a school, but only one of the tables was occupied by children. The other three were flowing with all kinds of people from different countries and cultures, speaking different languages, of every imaginable age. There was also a long table at the top of the hall, where some seventy-five or so people were seated. It was the only table comprised wholly of adults. It was to this table that Harry led Chris, who could not suppress the thought that he was far too _young_ for this table.

But Harry conjured up a chair for him right beside a red-headed man who for some reason, was refusing to look him in the face, but who he could still see bore a strong resemblance to Harry's wife. Opposite sat a brown-haired woman who was eyeing him with an intent look, (as was the entire Hall, for that matter, he realized with discomfort), and another man with grey hair and a weary expression which made him look considerably older than he was.

"This is Chris Haliwell," Harry made the introductions, "And this is Ron Weasley, my best friend and brother-in-law; he was with me last night when we picked you up," He indicated the red-head, who was still, for some reason, refusing to look him in the face. "And this is his wife, also a close friend, Hermione Weasley," He indicated the brown-haired woman who gave him a warm smile which he returned hesitatingly. "This is Professor Remus Lupin; he was with us last night as well." He indicated the grey haired man who grinned sheepishly and confessed in chagrinned tones, "I was the one that stunned you."

"Pleased to meet you ma'am, sirs," Chris replied as politely as he could with his new, scratchy voice.

They exchanged surprised looks at his form of address. "Call us by our names, please," Hermione said, smiling kindly before joking lightly, "You're making us feel _old_."

_Yes, well, you **are** old_, Chris wanted to say, but wisely kept the thought to himself. He remembered Phoebe and Paige had hated being called 'ma'am' as well, before...He pushed the thought back forcibly. He hadn't yet found the time to grieve for them yet- and he couldn't help but wonder if he _ever _would. Lately his life seemed like it was one problem after another.

"Chris, aren't you going to eat something?" Harry's voice cut into his thoughts, and he started.

"Y-yes" He paused, _really_ not feeling like eating, but not wanting to disappoint Harry when the man had gone to so much trouble for him. He reached out and forked a small sausage into his plate and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

"You have to eat more than _that_, dear" Ginny told him this time, and he cringed at the epithet. Why the hell was everyone going all parent-y on him? Surely he didn't look _that_ young?

"It's all I can manage, Mrs. Potter, really," He replied evenly, determining that if everyone was going to treat him like a kid than he could damn well address them with respect. He refused to call people more than twice his age by their first names.

"Why?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes at him in a way which reminded him forcibly of his mother. "Are you sick?"

_God, what the heck **is **this, a bloody intervention? _

"Erm, not exactly Mrs. Weasley, that is to say…" He stuttered, searching for a good lie to explain himself.

"You know you might as well tell them the truth," Harry told him, "They're the ones who are going to organize the relocation, so…"

"Right," Chris sighed, suppressing a groan. He turned to the others. "How much do you already know about me?"

"Only what Ron told us," Hermione replied softly, her expression sympathetic, "About that _Wyatt_ monster and how he-"

"Right," Chris interrupted her, "Well that's just the tip of the iceberg." He laughed harshly. "That 'Wyatt monster' just so happens to be my brother-" There were horrified exclamations at this, but he continued without acknowledging them; the response was starting to get old-"Who turned evil when I was fourteen. He established his leadership in the Underworld over the next two years and then started sending his minions above ground soon after my sixteenth birthday. That was when my friends and I started organizing the Resistance, a group of magical beings dedicated to fighting his evil and protecting innocents. We managed to save five thousand innocents and three thousand magical beings from perishing under his rule, but we've fallen on hard times recently." He reluctantly explained for a second time exactly _how_ _much _of an understatement that was. By the time he was done, everyone had either been rendered speechless with horror, or looked physically ill, or both.

"Chris has accepted my offer of help and decided to relocate the Resistance to here," Harry told everyone when they had managed to recover themselves somewhat, "We'll have to get to work on that the second breakfast's over, because now that his family is gone, the enchantments protecting the place have been considerably weakened and it will only be a matter of time before Wyatt will be able to break through them."

"Yeah, about that," Chris said, "The relocation will need more organizing than I originally thought. You have a lot of innocents here too, and I don't think they should be exposed to all the sick people. Plus I don't want mortals from different safe-houses to mix with each other either, or the diseases will spread."

"How many safe-houses does the Resistance have?" Hermione asked; her brows furrowing as she already began to mentally plot the logistics of the operation.

"Thirty-six, all across North and South America," Chris replied.

"Which is the largest and how many people does it house?"

"SH 5, it has seven hundred and twenty one," Chris answered promptly, "450 mortals and 270 magical beings. It's in San Francisco."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise, "You know _exactly_ how many people of each type who are located in each safe-house?"

Chris snorted derisively, "I know everyone in the Resistance by _name_. They're all my charges so I can't very well _not_ know. It sort of comes with the job description."

"Do you know exactly how many people are sick and which safe-house is more susceptible to cholera or typhoid?" Hermione asked.

"Of course," answered Chris, "I can sense whenever any of my charges aren't well."

"Ravenclaw can house eight hundred people," Ginny piped up suddenly, "We'll have to move the civilians living there out, but there's more than enough space in Hufflepuff. There aren't more than three hundred people living there as far as I remember."

"Yes, and then there's the Prefects' Common Room, too, that's huge and more or less empty…"

"Ooh, that won't go down well with Adrian, you know he's…"

A wave of relief swept over Chris as the entire table began to brainstorm. This was exactly what he had wanted. With any luck, they would manage the entire operation by the end of tomorrow. And _then_, he thought grimly, he would dedicate himself to finding out exactly _what_ his brother had to do with that last Horcrux, and figure out a way to stop him once and for all.

…

TBC…

Sorry it's taken so long to update, I've been preoccupied with my exams. Thankfully, I'll be done with them on Monday and then I'll be all yours! By the way, I'm sorry if you found this chapter boring. I know it was kind of a filler chapter, but I couldn't very well do away with the introductions! I promise the plot will pick up soon. Cheers, and please review!


	4. Hope

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 4: Hope

WARNING: This chapter contains mention of non-consensual sexual activity, or in other words, rape.

…

Morning had turned into night by the time they had managed to get everything coordinated, but Chris thought that, all things considered, they had made pretty good time. What with trying to find enough large items which could be Transfigured into beds, getting all the mortal doctors and wizarding Healers organized and prepared to treat the sick in the most effective way possible, figuring out which rooms best suited the needs of which members of which safe-house, and _then _getting the current inhabitants of the rooms to move out to _other _rooms (which _also_ needed planning), Chris was made continually aware of the disruption he was causing to life at Hogwarts. He resolved to find a way to repay the Order's kindness as soon as he could. The only plus point was that the endless traipsing up and down stairs, orbing from room to room, and poring tirelessly over copies of the Marauder's Map of Hogwarts had made him very familiar with the castle.

When everything was finally ready, and everyone was stationed at the posts he and the Order had assigned them, Chris, accompanied by Harry and Hermione at the insistence of Moody, orbed down to the Resistance Headquarters of SH 5. The two newcomers had barely a moment to gather in an impression of a carpeted floor, masses of people milling everywhere and glass doors leading into private offices which unmistakably comprised a corporate office, before a blur of auburn hair barreled past them and straight into Chris.

"Chris!" The woman shrieked, "Thank God, you're alive!" At her announcement, people from all around began thronging to the scene, exclaiming in amazement and joy upon seeing their leader alive and well. "Hey, Jennifer," Chris warmly returned his friend's embrace, who was sobbing her relief onto his shoulder. He rubbed her back soothingly, "I'm fine, Jen, really. Don't cry." She smacked him hard on the shoulder.

"Ouch! What the hell was that for?"

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?!" The woman ranted at him, her relief changing swiftly to anger, "Where the hell have you _been?_ It's been two days!" When he did not answer immediately she pulled away from him and looked at his face closely, sensing by his guarded eyes that something was wrong. "Chris where are the Charmed Ones and the rest of your family?" She asked with growing trepidation as he tensed slightly at the question, "They managed to rescue you from Wyatt, didn't they?"

To Harry and Hermione's amazement and disbelief, Chris's expression remained completely unaltered. "They're fine," He responded evenly, shaking his head imperceptibly at Harry when the man opened his mouth to question him. He knew Jennifer would be furious with him for lying about this but he wanted this evacuation to go as smoothly as possible, and inciting a wave of panic by announcing the deaths of the most powerful beings of good magic did not strike him as a particularly effective way of doing it.

"Then how come I still can't sense them, if they're okay?" asked Michael, the white-lighter who had long been assigned to the Haliwell family, and was therefore duty-bound to worry about them. Chris cringed; if Jenny would kill him for lying about his family, it was nothing compared to what Michael would do.

"They're at this new safe-house," He invented. He motioned for Harry and Hermione to step forward. "This is Harry Potter and his friend Hermione Weasley. They're English witches who rescued us from Wyatt and brought us to their safe-house- a Magic School in Scotland. The school, Hogwarts, is cloaked against outsiders; that's why you can't sense them, but I can assure you they're all perfectly fine. Hogwarts has extended a much needed offer of assistance to us, and I've decided that relocating the Resistance there ignored it, raising his voice and spoke over the din. "We've spent the entire day preparing the place for everyone, and it's finally ready so we have to move now. I want this to go as smoothly as possible, so please cooperate with me for now and defer your questions until later."

There were exclamations of indignation and disbelief at this announcement. Harry and Hermione tensed as the entire congregation eyed them with open mistrust and apathy. "How do you know you can trust them, Chris?" asked Michael skeptically, torn between the immediate instinct to mistrust strangers and gratitude that the same strangers had, as he thought, rescued his precious charges. "I mean, I know they rescued you, but…"

The others were having none of it. "Who the hell are _you_ to make a decision which affects all our lives without even bothering to consult us first?"

"And how could you just _leave_ the Charmed Ones with complete strangers! You of all people should know better than that; I mean, there's a price on their blood…"

"You had better have a good excuse for failing to double-check with us on this one, Chris, or we'll-"

"Enough!" Chris shouted, his tone effectively cutting off all arguments. Harry watched with growing amazement and admiration as his face hardened into stone and he stepped forward with the authoritative gait of a true leader. Even his stature seemed to have grown. How, Harry wondered inanely, could someone who was as young as this boy was look like _that?!_ "Let me remind you," Chris informed everyone through gritted teeth, "That I am your leader and will always act in your best interests, and that I would never leave my family if I thought they were in any danger," Pain and guilt flitted across his face momentarily, before it regained its usual mask of imperviousness. "This is non-negotiable," He continued firmly, "I want all the witches to gather on the west side of the safe house, all the white-lighters to stay here with me in the lobby, and all the mortals who are _not _sick to gather on the east side. Quickly, if you please!"

"But Chris, you have to talk to the council first! You can't just decide to-"

"Damn it, Adrian!" Chris exclaimed angrily, turning on his heel to face the Elder who had risked himself completely by turning his back on explicit orders from the Tribunal to help the Resistance's cause. The man's soul would have been recycled if Wyatt had not vanquished the Tribunal before he could have his trial; one of the only useful things his brother had done since the beginning of his reign of evil, he thought wryly. And his anxiety and frustration had made him snap at the one Elder he actually respected.

He took a deep, calming breath before speaking again. "Look, have I not proved enough times that you can trust my judgment?" The implication was clear. He had been leading them for nigh on four years and the only reason they had survived during that time was because _he_ had been protecting them. His judgment was what had kept them alive until this point, so they had _better_ trust it. It was not a card Chris liked to play very often, but he was growing desperate. He could feel something dimly through the bond he shared with his brother, and though he couldn't identify exactly what it was, it was filling him with a deep sense of foreboding. He _needed _to get everyone out of here _now, _at whatever cost, before it was too late.

"We're not saying we can't trust your judgment Chris," Adrian replied cautiously to his outburst, "It's just that, we need to get all the other council members together to discuss it before deciding to relocate."

"No," Chris countered, "We don't have the time for that." He paused for a moment, "I have never used my power to over-ride the council before, but if you force my hand then God forgive me, but I will." He turned to face the entire group before saying in an authoritative tone, "As the leader of the Resistance, I stand above the council, and though I rarely like to remind people of it, I _will_ use that power over them to cross out any objections So please, do not argue, and get ready for the evacuation right now. If you insist on resisting me, then so help me, I will orb you there _by force_." A stunned silence followed this speech, but everyone present could tell that the Resistance leader was deadly serious. Realizing the pointlessness of arguing, they began shuffle, muttering angrily and scowling fiercely in his direction. He heaved a sigh of relief, and was about to say something to Jennifer when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Chris, are you sure you know what you're doing," Adrian asked, troubled and disillusioned by Chris's dictatorial behavior. In spite of the emphatic "_yes_" he received in reply, he still felt compelled to warn him, "If this goes wrong, it will it will be on your head."

Chris's mask of certainty and determination suddenly fell away and he looked drawn with weariness and resignation. "Isn't it always?" He replied tightly, turning away from the Elder feeling emotionally and physically exhausted. "Hey Jen," He asked his friend determinedly, "Could you get Hope for me please, before you go to the east side to join the other mortals?"

"Why? I mean, isn't she safe enough with Charlie?" Charlie was a powerful but inexperienced witch who Chris had put in charge of protecting the Resistance's young. Hope was perfectly safe with Charlie, but that wasn't why Chris wanted to see her.

"Yes, but I…" Chris wracked his brains to find a plausible explanation for his overwhelming need to see his last remaining family before giving up. "Just don't argue with me, Jen, please. I just-" His voice sank to a whisper, "I just want to hold her." Jennifer studied him for a long moment with an unreadable expression on her face, before nodding tersely and walking away.

"Who exactly is Hope?" Harry asked curiously, moving to stand beside Chris.

"You'll see," He replied, a soft smile transforming his features briefly until he snapped back to his leader mode. "All white-lighters of SH 5 in the lobby immediately, please!" He called out, closing his eyes and sending out his summons, "I want you to leave whatever it is you're doing and get your butts down here right now! I mean it, people!" A moment later, swirls of blue and white lights were exploding in every corner as a number of white-lighters orbed into the long passage. Chris didn't even acknowledge the exclamations of relief and joy which greeted his appearance before beginning to bark out his orders. "Mark, Carter, Sandy, Lucas, Haylie, and Steven, I need you to orb down to the sanatorium right now. And _do not_ ask any questions; just wait there until I catch up with you. The rest of you, I need you to break up into teams of five people each."

He waited until everyone had done as he had ordered, before turning to the group closest to him and declaring, "We are commencing an emergency evacuation operation. I'm going to orb this team to a place, and don't worry, guys, it's completely safe. I'll give you a minute or two to memorize your surroundings and then call you back, but don't return until you're sure you'll be able to orb back there again later. Clear?" He waited only to see that they had understood before he waved his hand and orbed them to the Ravenclaw Common Room back at Hogwarts.

He waited for a minute before calling them back, and he, Harry and Hermione felt both somewhat vindicated when they say how impressed they seemed. "Damn, Chris, where the heck did you find that place?" Carly, the first to rematerialize, exclaimed enthusiastically. "It's awesome!" The others murmured in agreement.

Chris looked pointedly at Adrian who was looking, if not completely at ease, a little mollified at the very least. He turned to the whitelighters who had just returned, and told them, "You guys will be orbing all the witches in this safe-house to that place you just saw. I need you to keep count of everyone and make sure you orb only the witches. I told them to gather on the west side but you may need to round up a few of them. Don't orb more than two at a time and when you're done, report back to me for further instructions. I'll be sending you some back up shortly. Okay?" He received no reply as they were all already heading in the direction he had mentioned. He turned to the other teams who were looking at him with both curiosity as well as a reluctant anticipation.

"I'm going to orb ten more teams to the place I just sent those guys. Stay long enough to memorize your surroundings and then start orbing all the witches and other magical beings there. After you're done, report back to me." He waved his hand seven times in rapid succession before turning back to the remaining teams. "I'm going to orb five more teams to another room in that same safe-house. Same thing applies; stay long enough to concentrate on your surroundings, and then start orbing all the mortals from this safe-house who _aren't_ sick to that room. They're supposed to be gathered on the east side. Tell them they'll be in quarantine for a while so they can't leave that room until we're sure they're completely healthy, but assure them they'll be well cared for." He made a sweeping motion with both his hands, and orbed all five teams to a large room which had been prepared for the purpose. Then he turned to few remaining teams and assigned some of them to orbing people's personal belongings and luggage to their rooms, and the rest to orbing all the books on magic they had managed to salvage to the expansive Hogwarts library.

At last, when there was no one left in the room but Adrian, Harry, Hermione and himself, and he heaved a sigh of relief, making as if to sink into a chair before a cry from the other side of the room interrupted him. He was striding across the room in an instant, a soft smile gracing his lips as he beheld the twelve month old infant in Jennifer's arms.

"Hey sweetie," He said softly, reverently, his eyes shining with adoration. He held his arms out to Jennifer who promptly orbed into them with a delighted coo. Chris smiled tremulously and closed his eyes as he kissed Hope on top of the head. "How has she been?" He asked his friend quietly, as the child immediately settled back into what must have been an interrupted slumber now that she was safe and secure in his arms.

"Charlie says she's missed you and hasn't been sleeping well since you left," Jenny replied, in a blatantly bitter tone which Chris equally blatantly ignored.

"I wish I didn't have to leave her so often," He sighed, more to himself than to her as he smiled down at the blonde head of hair snuggled against his chest.

Jennifer snorted with a hint of derision. "Chris you never leave her for more than _two days_ at a time. Besides, it's understandable, I mean your position-"

"I refuse to use being a leader as an excuse for not seeing my own _daughter_," Chris cut in harshly, the excuse reeking too much of the ones Leo used to give for missing his birthdays when he was young.

"I know that," Jennifer replied evenly, "But Chris, you have to remember, she's _not_-"

"Don't even say it," Chris interjected, his eyes blazing with sudden fire. Two days ago, he would not have crossed Jennifer on this; he would not even have expressed as much love as he already had for the girl in her presence knowing that she looked upon his attachment with her with a brand of disapproval he could never quite fathom. But now, when he had lost his entire family in the course of one night, and she was all that he had, he could no longer hide his fierce paternal love for the girl, and no longer felt he needed to. She was, after all, the only family she had left.

"But Chris- she's very clearly your _niece_. I mean you have to accept-"

"I don't have to accept anything," Chris cut in curtly, "She is my _daughter_, in every way that counts, because _I'm_ the one who has been there for her since day one, not that _monster._" The last word was spat out in such contempt that it hit Jennifer like a slap on the face.

She hissed in a tone of unmistakable anger, "Monster? Since when have you felt that way, Chris? When the hell did you decide that he can no longer be saved? _When the hell did you give up on him?!_"

_Last night_, Chris replied silently, _when he tortured and killed my family for a goddamn **book.**_ He turned abruptly away from Jennifer as an excess of emotions, and found himself staring into Harry's compassion filled eyes. The sight was unexpectedly steadying, and he closed his eyes briefly, drew a shaky breath, and then forced himself to tune back into Jennifer's rant.

"…because someday, we _will _find a way to save him, and he _will _want to reclaim Hope as his own, and like it or not, you _will_ have to accept that! You can't just get so attached to her that-"

"Yes, I can!" Chris exclaimed angrily, turning back around to face her, "For God's sake, Jennifer, she is _my _daughter! _My_ girlfriend gave birth to her! And for you to even suggest-"

"She has blonde hair and blue eyes, Chris! She can heal!"

"So what?" He shot back in an angry whisper, "That could have been inherited from Leo!"

"She is the splitting image of Wyatt! Her facial structure, the shape of her eyebrows, the breadth of her forehead- there is no way that came from Leo!"

"Hope is not any less my daughter just because Wyatt _raped_ my girlfriend!"

There was a sharp intake of breath from Adrian and Jennifer paled dramatically at the words, her hands flying to her mouth and her eyes widening in horrified realization. Chris closed his eyes in guilt and shame as he realized what he'd just said. He had sworn to protect her from that knowledge.

"Oh, God, Jen," He said, his voice rent with emotion, "I'm so-"

"Don't," She replied; hurt, betrayal and devastation filling her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks. "You and Emma…you lied to me. You _lied_ to me! How _could_ you lie about that, about _him!_" Her voice rose, jerking Hope from her peaceful slumber and causing her to wail in distress.

"Jen! Would you keep it down, please!"

"No, I will not keep it down!" Jennifer shouted, her eyes flashing with rage. Hope screamed in distress and Chris stepped back in alarm, stunned by his friend's behavior. Jennifer continued to shout, oblivious to Hope, "You told me he was in love with her! You told me they got drunk and slept together! You said the fact that he was still capable of love was proof that he was not too far gone down the path of evil!"

"Jennifer, you're scaring Hope!" Chris exclaimed frantically, simultaneously raising one hand to placate his friend and at the same time trying to calm the baby in his arms by bouncing slightly on the tips of his toes. It would have been a funny sight had the circumstances been different.

Completely unaffected by his efforts, Jennifer screamed her conclusion in an even higher pitch than her previous outbursts. "_You led me to believe he could still be saved!" _

"Jen, look, I'm-"

"No," Jennifer breathed over Hope's cries, thankfully no longer shouting but still seething, "Just- just, stay away from me, Chris." She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

Stricken, Chris slumped down into a chair, all the while whispering soothingly to Hope and rubbing her back to quiet her wails.

"Chris," Adrian asked in a tone of quiet reproach, "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Oh, I don't know," Chris muttered sarcastically, glaring up at the Elder defiantly, "Because I wanted the entire Resistance to know that my daughter- and she _is_ my daughter, Adrian- was brought to life in the worst way possible? Or no, was it because I wanted to reduce everyone's _non-existent_ morale and break the heart of his _best friend_ by announcing that my brother, the Twice Blessed, the wielder of Excalibur, went from being simply a being of good subverted to evil to being capable of committing rape? And on the love of his own brother's _life?!_ Or do you not remember what things were like last year; how they _still _are, for that matter!" He shook his head and continued in a softer tone, "You would have done exactly the same in my place."

"Lying to Jennifer only hurt her more in the end," Adrian disagreed, "She may have been Wyatt's best friend, but she's yours as well. You-"

"I did not hurt Jennifer," Chris cut in, indignation giving way to weariness halfway through the sentence, "Wyatt did. And as for Jenny being my friend as much as his, that's bullshit. She _is_ one of my closest friends, but I can never replace Wyatt for her. She and Wyatt- when we were growing up, they were _always_ together; getting into trouble, doing homework, walking to school, drinking underage, experimenting with weed…they always did everything together. She lived right next door, but you would never have known it from all the time she spent at the manor. I remember when I was five or six, there was a phase when I was actually _jealous _of her because of the relationship she shared with my brother. They told each other everything. You _don't know_ the kind of hell she went through when he turned. I spent a full year trying to convince her that Wyatt was evil, and she only accepted it he attacked her when she tried to confront him. She was so devastated; I don't think she's ever been the same since." He shook his head and sighed, "These last several I've protected her from the knowledge of how bad he really is, and it wasn't that hard because she's a mortal and never gets to go above ground. She doesn't even know what San Francisco is like; none of the mortals do. I wanted her to hold onto the hope that there's still a chance of saving him, that there's still some hint of the old Wyatt in his soul, but-"

"The last I checked, you still believed your brother could be saved," Adrian cut in, surprised and shocked Chris had given up on Wyatt. Adrian himself had long since done so, but he wasn't the man's _brother._

Chris bowed his head, his entire demeanor the very picture of misery. "I did," He whispered. "Before-" He stopped and stood up abruptly, his expression so tortured that Harry's heart clenched on his behalf.

"Before what, Chris?" Adrian asked slowly.

The Resistance leader's face hardened instantly into its customary mask as he realized they were heading into dangerous territory. "Before nothing. You'll find out soon enough, Adrian. For now, I need you to take Hope to Hogwarts and guard her with your life. Which isn't much to ask for because you're already dead."

"I thought you said it was safe?" The Elder asked, although he compliantly held out his arms to accept the little girl.

"It is," Chris replied, deciding this was not a good time to mention the fact that any demon or whitelighter could orb or shimmer in and out of there with no trouble at all. "But it pays to be careful. I'm orbing you to- where is Mrs. Potter stationed, Mrs. Weasley?"

Hermione consulted the list in her hands, "Prefect's Common Room."

"Right. I'm orbing you both to the Prefect's Common Room. Mrs. Ginny Potter, that's Mr. Potter wife, will answer any questions you have, and if Hope needs anything you just have to ask her to call upon her house-elf- do _not_ ask; you'll regret it, trust me-, and he'll get you anything you need. That _is_ acceptable to you, right?" He asked Harry somewhat belatedly.

"Yes, of course," Harry replied.

"Keep her safe," Chris told Adrian, "And if you need help, just holler."

"I will," Adrian replied before Chris waved his hand and orbed the two away.

"Why did you lie about your family?" Hermione demanded the minute they were alone.

"Because I didn't want everyone to panic and disrupt the evacuation," Chris replied evenly, "My family was made up of very powerful magical beings and their enchantments over this place are what protected it from Wyatt. Now, I think we'd better get to the sick area before the other whitelighters get bored of waiting decide to orb out. Are you still sure you can conjure up enough stretchers between you?"

"_Yes_, Chris." He had only asked them that question a million times.

Chris's face set with determination. "Then let's do this."

…

TBC…

I know there was a lot of detail given to the process of relocation which some of you may have thought boring, but evacuating eight thousand people is hardly a cakewalk, and I wanted my readers to appreciate the difficulties that would be involved.

What do you think of the Jennifer/Wyatt/Chris/Emma/Hope equation? (Oh, by the way, in case you didn't figure it out, Emma was Chris's girlfriend before Bianca. There will be more details about that later in the story). And in particular, what did you think of Jennifer? Must dash! Please review as soon as you can!


	5. The Price of Protection

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 5: The Price of Protection

…

It was mid-afternoon of the next day before the entire Resistance had been properly settled into Hogwarts. For most, it had been a sleepless night; and Harry and Hermione in particular were dead on their feet from all the walking around as well as emotionally drained from all the sickness and hardship they had witnessed. The majority of the safe-houses were corporate offices, malls, apartment buildings, the occasional church and convent, and even some abandoned warehouses or cellars; and all of them were dilapidated, damp and very often smelled something awful.

Both Harry and Hermione were worried about Chris; for whom the experience had been ten times more exhausting than it had for them; as he had had to make the same explanation and hear and refute the same arguments at every safe-house. The young man had put on a grim countenance which even seemed to mask his blatant weariness and sleep deprivation. Looking at him, no one would have been able to tell that he had not slept for two days straight and was basically running on adrenalin (and a Revitalizing Potion, but that was beside the point).

To the incredulous amazement of both friends, the moment the Resistance was properly accommodated at Hogwarts, Chris, again with energy and determination which belied his state of exhaustion, immediately set about brainstorming on a new project; that of casting the protection spells on Hogwarts to make it impossible for demons to shimmer in and out at random. The process was much more difficult now that the Charmed Ones and their offspring were all dead so that casting a spell using Charmed magic was no longer an option. Chris could see only one way of achieving the same effect, and try as he might to find a better alternative, he could not. So he waited until he could to escape the anxious parental gazes of Harry, Ginny and Hermione (who seemed to have decided as a collective that he needed to be taken care of and fussed over like he was three rather than twenty) and concealed himself in a deserted classroom before calling Adrian, who appeared a minute later in a swirl of blue and white lights.

"It sounded urgent so I left Hope with Charlie," The Elder explained before Chris could ask, "What's wrong this time?"

Chris smirked, amused by how pessimistic he had made the normally even-tempered, peaceful Elder by his unprecedented behavior. "Nothing's wrong," he said, "_Technically _at least."

"What do you mean, _technically_?" Adrian asked, instantly wary.

"Wyatt doesn't know where this place is, and you can't plot it on a map, so if he takes it into his head to find us it'll take him at least a day before he does so," Chris replied, "But the bad news is that it isn't protected, so that once he does figure out where he is, he can pretty much shimmer in or send his demons whenever he wants to and in whatever numbers he wants to."

"What!" The Elder exclaimed, turning on Chris furiously, "You knowingly compromised the safety of the Resistance! I don't believe this; Chris, you of all people-"

"Keep your hair on," Chris interrupted the stream of protests hurriedly, "I have thought of a way to protect the place and we can do it in the next ten seconds if you agree." He took a deep breath, and his next words tumbled out so fast that Adrian could barely make them out, "You have to assign me all the people here as charges. It's the only way, so please don't-"

"What? No way!" Adrian shook his head, horrified, "You already have _eight thousand_ charges; and there are at least twelve thousand people living here! There is no way you can handle so many. And anyway, can't you just get the Charmed Ones to help you cast a spell instead?"

"The Charmed Ones are dead," Chris replied harshly, too fed up and the situation too urgent for him to find a way to sugarcoat it. "My entire family is."

Adrian reeled back, paling dramatically at the words. "W-what?" he asked faintly.

Chris sighed and rubbed a hand over his face exhaustedly, immediately regretting the cruel abruptness of the. "I'm sorry I lied to you; I didn't want everyone to panic," He explained evenly, sounding as though he was reciting a prepared speech rather than announcing the death of his entire family. He felt like he was imparting this news from a distance, like his body and mouth were separated from his mind. He wondered when, or if, he would stop feeling that way. "Wyatt killed my entire family; my aunts, my uncles; even my cousins. He tortured them to get some information out of me, which I couldn't give because it involved revealing the location of the Resistance Headquarters, and _that_ would have been an unprecedented disaster. He was going to leave me to rot there for a while with their bodies but Mr. Potter and his friends somehow found me and brought me here. When they offered me assistance, I couldn't very well refuse because I knew that with my family gone, the magic protecting the safe-houses had pretty much collapsed as well."

"God," Adrian breathed unsteadily. He raised his eyes to Chris's, and looked with a mixture of awe and pity upon the young man who had been strong enough to resist his own brother under such awful conditions. "I'm so sorry…"

"Me, too," Chris replied, "But now we have to find a way of preventing demons and darklighters from shimmering in here at random, and as far as I can see, there is only one way. You have to assign all the people here to me as charges, and then I have to cast a spell anchoring on myself. That won't require any Charmed magic. You're the only one who can assign me the innocents, since only Elders can do that, or I wouldn't put you in this position," He added, feeling a twinge of guilt at the Elder's stricken look.

"But Chris, just think," Adrian entreated him, unable to consent with the knowledge of exactly what the Resistance leader was willing to take upon himself, "_Twenty thousand_ charges? Do you even…I mean, it's never been done before for a reason. Do you really think your body will be able to endure that? You have a hard enough time as it is, constantly at the mercy of the thoughts and feelings of eight thousand people. How much worse will your migraines be with twelve thousand _more_?"

"Adrian, I'm the only one powerful enough to carry something like this off," Chris was compelled to point out, "And face it, we _don't have_ another choice. We can hardly leave this place unprotected."

Unable to argue with this logic, the Elder tried a different tack. He knew by this time he was fighting a losing battle, but could not bring himself to readily put yet another burden on Chris's shoulders. "Even if I do agree to this, how do you think these people will respond when they realize you've become their whitelighter?" He asked, "Don't forget you will place yourself above everyone here by becoming their protector. How do you think that _Moody_ person will respond to that?"

"You and I both know I will never use my position," Chris responded, "As far as I'm concerned, the Order calls the shots here. And Moody can go screw himself if he doesn't see that I had to do this to protect everyone here," He added as an irritated afterthought.

"I still think this will be too much for you," Adrian said doubtfully, "But I don't suppose we have another choice. Are you _sure_ there's no other way?"

"If there is, I promise I'll let you un-assign the charges from me the moment we discover it," Chris replied.

Adrian hesitated for a long moment and then nodded resignedly. "Well, what exactly do we have to do, then?"

"It's going to be lunch soon. All the Order members, including those living at Grimauld Place, which is apparently the other headquarters, will be here because Mr. Potter wants to give them an update after lunch. Almost everyone who needs to be included in the spell will be in the Great Hall, so that's where you'll have to assign them to me." His face and tone made it amply clear that he did _not_ like the idea of doing this in front of such a large audience, or any audience, for that matter, especially since the process was going to be very painful for him and therefore likely to be quite dramatic when it took place. But he didn't have a choice.

"And then?" Adrian prompted him.

Chris drew out four large white crystals from a pouch at his waist. "I've cast a spell on these so that they'll activate the moment you finish assigning all the charges to me. When that happens, you take them, and bury them at four points around the castle. I'll orb you to them right now so you know where they are for later. Just remember, no matter how bad I look, leave the others to help me. This is too important for you to slow yourself worrying about me. The crystals' full magical potential will only be reached once their buried in the earth. It's one of their properties."

Adrian nodded reluctantly, and a few minutes later was empty as the two orbed out to mark out the spots where the crystals were to be buried, so that when Harry came in searching for Chris to call him for lunch, he found no one there.

…

The lunch hall was fuller than Chris had ever seen and everyone had already begun eating when Chris and Adrian made their appearances. Chris's resolute face and Adrian's pale one instantly drew Harry's attention, who frowned and followed their progress to the front of the hall from the head of the table, instantly knowing that they were both up to something. Chris walked so that he had his back against the wall when he turned and faced Adrian. His face was grim and determined. At Adrian's look of uncertainty he whispered something, which Harry read from the movement of his lips as "Do it now."

The Elder sighed, and allowed his gaze to sweep penetratingly across the Great Hall before he placed his hands on Chris's shoulders and seemed to concentrate. At first, Chris's expression did not change, but then pain began to flood his features. Harry watched with growing confusion and concern as he screwed up his face and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The pain only seemed to grow worse as Chris released a low moan and clutched at his head. He slid slowly down the wall, tears of unmistakable agony wetting his face. Adrian did not break his grasp of Chris's shoulders, seeming to be in some type of trance or stupor; he merely slid straight down onto his knees so he could continue whatever it was he was doing. By this time, most of the Hall were on their feet, muttering in confusion and alarm. Harry and a few other Order members had pushed their way forward by this time, but were hanging back uncertainly, unsure as to how, or even whether, to intervene. Even when Chris's face grew red with the strain and a few blood vessels around his eyes actually ruptured so that he looked like he'd been given a black eye, no one was sure what to do.

At long last, Adrian let go of Chris's shoulders and Chris immediately slumped forward onto the floor, too weak and in too much pain to hold himself upright without support. He was crying quietly from the agony which still surrounded him. Adrian regained awareness quickly and let out an inarticulate exclamation when he saw the young man's condition. He quickly propped him up against the wall, where Chris clutched at his head and whimpered, tears continuing to streak down his face as the thoughts and emotions of twenty thousand people battered him relentlessly. The pain was unimaginable.

"Chris…" Adrian said worriedly, not wanting to leave him in this state. The Resistance leader opened one bloodshot eye and glared at the older man.

"Go," He said hoarsely.

"But Chris-"

"Now!" The young man's tone allowed for no argument, and Adrian orbed away instantly. Chris let out a sigh of relief that he had departed, finding some contentment in the knowledge that Hogwarts and all the innocents it housed, which were his responsibility, would be safe, in spite of the price he would pay in terms of months of relentless pain which he could already foresee with frightening clarity.

Harry moved forward to help, but stopped as Chris held out a hand to stop him, screwing up his face as the pain increased tenfold. Frowning, the older man tried to assess the situation. Suddenly aware of all the muttering and confusion around him, he clapped his hands to call for silence and then instructed the Prefects to get all the students and other civilians out of there. He knew by some instinct that the more the people present, the more discomfort it would cause Chris, and sure enough when almost everyone had left the Great Hall, Chris seemed to be in marginally less pain.

He was about to move forward again to ask the young man exactly what was wrong when a distraction in the form of Adrian orbing back appeared. The Elder's hands and clothing were caked in mud. He knelt beside Chris, his eyes wide and concerned, and gave him a bout of golden healing which also seemed to help a little, and then produced a couple of Pain-Relieving Potions (which he had taken from one of the sick rooms) from among his robes and which he handed to Chris, who swiftly downed the contents of both vials with the barest of pauses in between. When this was done, some of the lines of pain on his face seemed to smoothen and he looked around himself with new awareness.

"That was fucking worse than I thought it would be," He muttered, clutching at his head, and then attempting to stand.

Adrian stopped him at once. "What do you think you're doing? Sit right back down this instant! I don't know what the hell I was thinking; I never should have allowed this."

"Never should have allowed what?" Harry and Moody asked in the same breath, though their respective tones of concern and suspicion contrasted so markedly with each other that they stared at one another in astonishment

Chris ignored them both, instead focusing on Adrian. "Did you do it?"

"Yes."

"Thank God," Chris breathed a sigh of relief

"Do _what?_" Harry asked sharply.

Chris winced at his alleviated tone. "Not so loud; some of us here are suffering from acute migraines!" At Moody's glare, he relented, turning to Adrian with a resigned look. "Fine. You explain."

Adrian took a deep breath and did just that. "We had to find a way to protect Hogwarts, but since Chris's family is all dead, we couldn't use their magic like we did the last time. So we had to find another way, and well. Suffice it to say that effective as it is, it had some er…_consequences_." He nodded towards Chris pointedly, who rolled his eyes at the euphemistic phrasing. Adrian sighed. "You know that Chris is part-whitelighter, part-witch, right?"

"Yes, but we don't know what that means, exactly."

"You know what a witch is, at least?" At everyone's nods, he continued his explanation, "Well a whitelighter is like…an angel. People who have done exceptional good deeds in their lives become whitelighters after their deaths. Their jobs are to protect and heal good witches, who are assigned to them as charges by Elders."

"Wait a minute; you're saying he's _dead?_" Hermione cried, recoiling from Chris looking sickened.

"No, no," Adrian hastened to correct her, "He's _half_ whitelighter. That means his father is a whitelighter, but his mother was a witch. But yes, his father _was_ dead."

"What does this have to do with what just happened to Chris?" Harry asked, eyeing the young man, who was once again kneading his forehead with his knuckles, with obvious concern.

"As I was saying, we had to protect Hogwarts, and we couldn't cast a spell. So Chris came up with the only other way of doing it. Since I am an Elder, and the only one capable of doing such a thing, he asked me to assign everyone here to him as a charge so that he could cast a spell anchoring on himself to protect the place."

"What?!" Moody roared, striding forward furiously and bearing down on the young man, whose face contorted in agony as he felt his charge's rage batter him through his combined the empathy he had inherited both from his father, to a certain point, and from Phoebe. "Do you mean to tell me that you made yourself single-handedly responsible for twelve thousand people without even consulting us? That's Potter's job, not yours! What the hell do you think you're doing, boy; who do you think you _are_-"

He was cut off by a pain-filled whimper and a feeble wave of telekinetic force from Chris's trembling hand, which did little more than throw him back a step or two. The young man's bloodshot eyes were flooded anew with tears of agony at this onslaught of emotion from his charge, and he seemed to be struggling desperately to retain the last vestiges of sanity and consciousness.

"Step back," Adrian hissed, pulling Moody away. He cursed the man silently for more or less canceling out all the effects of his healing as well as the Pain-Relieving Potions by his ill-timed fit of fury. "And keep a lid on that temper."

Moody glowered at Adrian. "Why should I?" He ranted angrily, "I have every right to be angry-"

"Not when he's already got the thoughts and emotions of twenty thousand people running through his head and can sense all of you acutely when you're close to him!" Adrian roared, anxiety making him uncharacteristically loud.

Harry's eyes widened in horrified comprehension and the rest just stared, or gasped, completely bereft of speech by this revelation. Moody leaped away from Chris as if stung. Awed, horrified eyes fell on Chris, who winced under the scrutiny as the throbbing in his temples escalated again. He knew they wanted answers that only he could give, so he forced himself to concentrate. "Don't worry, Mr. Potter," He said hoarsely, "I would never dream of using my powers to assume a position of authority above yours. You have my word that I am only responsible for the Resistance."

But Harry shook his head dismissively; this was the least of his worries. What he had seen of Chris in the last few days had been enough to make him trust the young man with his life, if need be, and now he could not imagine he would _ever_ misuse his powers like that. He was more worried about how Chris was going to manage with this on top of everything else. Why did everything always have to be so hard for him, he wondered. Why did he always have to be so hard on _himself?_ "How are you going to manage with this?" He asked, "I mean, there is some way you can block out all of _that_**-**" he gestured vaguely, "-isn't there?"

Adrian sighed. "No there isn't. The last time he insisted on doing this, I assigned him all the members of the Resistance as charges, and he had migraines everyday for weeks. He just…got used to it eventually. He still gets migraines every so often on very bad days, or when some major mission is being planned by the Resistance which makes a lot of people worried or injured. But I have no idea how long it will take to adjust to this- or whether he will at all."

"I'll get used to it," Chris stated tiredly, massaging his head with his hands almost absently, "Or I'll manage…somehow, because I _have to._ I don't really have the option of _not _managing, do I?" He smiled grimly. "I'll practically live on Pain Relieving and Revitalizing Potions for awhile, but, hey, at least they're readily _available._ It's more than I can say for my migraines in the last few weeks." He shuddered at the memory of that excruciating pain with no relief at all, and Harry, who also suffered from the occasional pounding headache as a result of his scar, could very well sympathize.

"What you need now is a few uninterrupted hours of Dreamless Sleep," he declared, crouching beside the young man who regarded his decidedly paternal manner with alarm and amusement, "We can worry about everything else later."

"But what about-"

"We can postpone the Order meeting until tomorrow," the older man interrupted, anticipating the objection before it could be made. "Now that the castle is protected and all the civilians are safe, everything else can take second priority."

"No it can't," Chris muttered, his expression suddenly becoming so anguished that no one could mistake it as a result of physical pain. "I have to…" He took a deep breath, and looked away, finishing with an audible tremor in his voice, "I have to announce my family's deaths to the Resistance. They were all…important members, and when everyone finds out I lied about them, they will be furious. I have to tell them tonight."

"You won't be able to stand up long enough to make any announcements," Harry pointed out after a beat, reluctant to force yet another traumatic experience on the young man even though he could see the reason in this, "Can't someone else tell them? Can't you?" He asked Adrian.

The Elder didn't look too thrilled at the prospect, but wasn't about to answer in the negative with Chris's health at stake. "Well, yes, of course I could…"

"No," Chris interrupted him, shaking his head and then wincing as the movement caused his head to throb with pain _yet again_. "They were very important members of the Resistance and for anyone but me to announce their deaths and would not be well received."

"It will have to wait till tomorrow morning, then," Harry said firmly, "A few more hours will make little difference. For now, you should- no, you _must_ sleep. The Room of Requirement is the best place; you'll have everything you could possibly need there and it will be quieter and more secluded than the Hospital Wing. Do you think you can stand up and walk to the fireplace?"

"No, but that won't be necessary," Chris said, giving in to the older man as he saw the reason in his directions, "I can still orb."

"You'll be doing nothing of the kind," Adrian protested, "It takes energy to orb, which you don't seem to realize you lack at the moment. No, I'll orb you there." He gripped Chris by the elbow and Harry by the arm and orbed them both to the room.

The slightly disorienting, dizzying sensation of orbing, which was normally second nature to any whitelighter worth his salt, proved to be too much for Chris on this occasion. The world spun alarmingly around him, and he felt himself fall. As the thoughts of twenty thousand people grew louder and louder in his head, he dimly heard Harry swearing a blue streak before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

…

TBC…

Sorry I haven't updated in so long, I had a bad case of viral fever plus cough and cold and then writer's block on top of it. Not to mention living in mortal terror of the results of my Cambridge interview (everyone keep your fingers crossed for me!), which, in spite of going as well as could be expected, is understandably causing me a bit of worry. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and also please excuse the typos you may find, because I gave up proof-reading this twice in favor of a quick update. Oh, and, Merry Christmas, even if I don't celebrate it! I still love the Christmas pudding available everywhere at this time of year!


	6. Nightmare

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 6: Nightmare

…

_Harry bent over the H-map yet again, his face grim as he watched the little red dot right in the middle of Paris remain innocuously still. Normally he would be grateful that the Horcurx was not being used for Dark Magic and that in one place so it was easy to get to, but this particular Horcrux, Hufflepuff's Cup, was in a rather **difficult** location to penetrate. It was in a top-security museum in Paris, along with countless other priceless artifacts, and it had taken days to first understand (with the help of some Muggle experts in Hogwarts) and then figure out how to breach the security system, which in Harry's opinion could easily have rivaled all the traps and curses set on all the other Horcruxes combined. The planning and the research they had had to do to find ways of taking down the Muggle security system had been huge. Muggle technology was really quite deadly these days, and France was one of the few places in Europe which had been relatively untouched by Voldemort's reign. _

_He turned and checked another map on the same table, identical to the first in all respects save that it had been charmed to display only Order members. He watched anxiously for a few moments as the eight blue dots moved at snail's pace through the city, getting gradually closer and closer to the museum, and then turned away and began to pace the perimeter of the Shrieking Shack anxiously. The other Aurors and Order members present, Moody among them, eyed him warily, as if expecting him to go springing off after his friends and potentially endanger his life at the slightest provocation, but he ignored them. He knew better than to be reckless, had always known, ever since his stupidity had gotten Sirius killed._

_But he could not help wishing it was him out there. Not being able to get into any confrontation with Death Eaters until all the Horcruxes were destroyed was becoming more and more bothersome as the years passed. He had thought he would eventually become resigned to it, but he still hated sending people on missions which he himself could not go on. A leader was **never** supposed to do that, and he had been forced to do it almost **everyday**_ _for ten years. And it bothered him the most when he was forced to send people who meant as much to him as the ones on this mission did._

_He supposed he should be thankful that at least Ginny and Hermione had consented to stay behind, he thought moodily, although Hermione hadn't really had a choice because she was expecting. That Ginny had stayed had surprised him, but she had explained that she didn't want to leave their two-year-old daughter motherless when there was already a large possibility that Harry would die in the final confrontation with Voldemort. She never wanted Lily Potter, the pride and joy of her life, to be left an orphan. It didn't mean, of course, that she would stop going on missions all together, but there was no reason she had to go on the riskiest ones. That was just suicide. So she had stayed behind on this mission._

_But Ron was still out there, Harry reminded himself, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and the twins, and Tonks, and Regulus. He paced, and then checked the maps, and then paced again, working himself up into almost a frenzy of apprehension without realizing what he was doing. He normally steered clear of doing things which reduced his effectiveness as a leader._

_At long last, the blue dots reached the museum and fanned out near the entrance, and Harry picked up yet another enchanted map, this one the blueprints of the museum, depicting all the security systems installed there. It had taken months to make it. He watched with anxiously as the labeled dots moved slowly but surely into the museum, one by one hoodwinking the body heat and sound detectors, the infra-red beams, and the other alarms with their magic. He heaved a sigh of relief once he saw them all in unscathed. That was one battle over, at any rate._

_But all his apprehension returned in full measure once they entered the museum, stopping often to incapacitate the guards and alarms on the way, and neared the glass case behind which Harry knew rested the gleaming cup he had seen only once in Dumbledore's Penseive. Minutes stretched on, agonizingly slow, and Harry watched. The Cup remained in the exact same position, and everyone present merely seemed to be walking around or near it randomly. Harry growled in frustration, not for the first time wishing he could **see **what people were **doing **on the maps. _

_Suddenly, all the eight dots stilled at the same moment…and then the red Horcrux dot blinked out of existence. They had destroyed it. A moment later, the map of the museum went completely blank. All that remained on the map were the eight blue dots, more than one of which was flickering eratically. Harry's Eyes widened with horror as he realized what had happened. The entire museum had been blown to bits by whatever curse Voldemort had placed on the Cup. The only reason his friends were alive was because they had thought to cast a Protective Shield over themselves…which, he realized with a jolt, would not last very long under the weight of the falling debris. _

"_Back-up, they need back-up now, go!" He shouted frantically, and an instant later, the Aurors had touched the Portkey lockets around each of their necks and disappeared. Harry thought for one awful moment that Regulus had forgotten to bewitch the museum so that it would accept the Order Portkeys, but then a flurry of blue dots joined the others on the map. They moved with amazing speed around the map in a dizzying patter, too fast and too random for Harry to make out the labels._

_To his horror, some dots were suddenly beginning to blink out of existence. Most of the time, he couldn't read the labels fast enough to know who had died, but he could see that the dots were becoming fewer and fewer as minutes passed. It was chilling to watch. Suddenly, unexpectedly, all the dots vanished off the map, leaving it a blank piece of parchment, and Harry lurched forward in panic and disbelief. A second later, a flurry was created at the far side of the room as seven or eight people Portkeyed into the room, all covered from head to toe in dust and blood. The Aurors he had sent as back-up had Portkeyed out of the room, but, Harry realized with horror, the only person they had been able to rescue was Ron. **Which meant…**but no._

_He strode towards Moody, who was attempting to revive an unconscious Ron for the third time. "The others, they're not, they can't be-" He babbled frantically, but cut himself off when Moody shook his head grimly. _

"_I'm sorry, Potter. They're all gone."_

"_All of them?" He couldn't breathe. _

_Moody nodded and looked away. The younger wizard's eyes blazed suddenly in angry desperation, his shoulders heaving with suppressed emotion as he fisted his hands on Moody's shirt. "No..." He said frantically, "They could be buried on the debris, we can still find them!"_

"_They disappeared from the map, Potter," Moody reminded him quietly. "None of them have a pulse anymore. If they did, they wouldn't have disappeared." His gaze traveled to the innocuous-looking piece of blank parchment which had once been a map, and looked away, pained by the sight. _

"_So?" Harry was still in denial. "It doesn't mean their dead. We can revive them. There are Muggle revival techniques…CPR…"_

_But Moody kept shaking his head, his gaze compassionate, waiting for Harry to crumple as he always did.. But this time, Harry did not crumple. Without giving anyone a chance to react, he impulsively clutched the locket around Moody's neck and pulled, springing away from the Auror before he could stop him. Swiftly, he activated the Portkey with a flick of his wand, and held on for dear life as the world jerked away from him. Moody's outraged roar was abruptly cut short. He came to a sudden stop and stumbled forward over a pile of debris. He looked around frantically, his eyes widening in horror at the utter devastation that had once been the museum and a number of streets surrounding it._

_Next to him, he heard the whirling of another Portkey, and Moody, out of breath and snarling with fury, stepped forward. Harry dodged away from him before he could forcibly Portkey him back to the Shack, looking around for any sign of life, which he was unable to find. Some part of him already knew that it was too late, but he suppressed it and concentrated with all his might on the image of his godfather's brother smiling at him across the breakfast table at Hogwarts._

"_Accio Regulus!"_

"_Potter!_ _Are you insane?!" Moody exclaimed, horrifed. Clouds of dust, rubble, and shards of glass flew in the air as Regulus's body shot forward from a pile of debris on their left. Moody quickly cast a Bubble-Headed Charm on Harry and himself so they would not breathe in the dust, but he could not save them from the shards of glass and debris pelting them like a hailstorm. Harry didn't even notice the pain; his eyes were fixed on Regulus's body, which came flew towards him from underneath a large pile of rocks and plopped down at his feet._

_Harry sank to his knees beside his friend's still form, and muttered a quick Cleansing Charm to get rid of some of the dust so he could see the extent of Regulus's injuries. A moment later, he was retching violently. Moody swore violently from behind him, as the sight of his fellow Order member impaled upon a large shard of glass, unmistakably dead, effected even him._

_Harry was sobbing beside Regulus, his shoulders shaking as he whimpered incoherently, "No, no, please no…Accio Molly Weasley…oh Gods…Accio Tonks… oh, Merlin, not you too… Accio Fred, Accio George…"_

_Moody snapped out of his grief as more bodies flew through the air accompanied more glass and debris. He leapt forward and grasped Harry's shoulder with one scarred hand, and activated the Portkey around his neck (hastily snatched up from one of the other Aurors) with the other. The world jerked away again. _

_They landed back in the Shrieking Shack, and Harry, no longer able to deny his loved ones' deaths shook with grief and guilt for sending them all together on that mission. His cries mingled with those of a now revived Ron, who was sobbing over the blank map. Together, they mourned for their family._

…

Chris shot upright with a shuddering gasp as the dream ended. He could hear sobs coming from his right, and winced as Harry's renewed grief gave him a pounding headache in spite of the Pain Relieving Potion he had taken some hours before. He had dreamt other people's dreams besides Harry's that night, but since Harry had decided to sleep on the other side of the Room of Requirement to keep an eye on him, he had been physically the closest of his charges, and so his dream had hit Chris the hardest. He cleared his throat and called out hoarsely, "Mr. Potter? Are you alright?"

There was a gasp from the bed and the sobs stopped abruptly as Harry was caught by surprise. "Chris? You're awake?"

"Yes. Are you alright?"

"Am _I_ alright?" Harry asked, who was trying, with a mixture of embarrassment and consideration for Chris, to pretend that he hadn't just woken up weeping because of something that had happened fifteen years ago. "Why wouldn't I be? It was just a dream, Chris, I'm fine now-"

"I saw it," Chris interrupted him bluntly, "It wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare. And I can feel your emotions too, remember?"

Harry stared at him in mute dismay, and Chris sighed. "Yours is the third one I saw tonight," He said matter-of-factly, "It always happens when I'm assigned to new charges."

Harry continued to stare at him as he digested this information, and then rose, muttering a command to the room, which was instantly illuminated by candlelight which did not aggravate Chris's head. Chris watched with a mixture of curiosity and wariness as Harry bustled around the room, finally producing two vials of Pain Relieving Potion which he wordlessly handed to him. The younger man swallowed gratefully, sighing with relief as some of the pain ebbed away and he was able to concentrate more on the contents of the nightmare and draw implications from it. He studied Harry, and could tell by his uneven breaths that he was still affected by it.

"Regulus…were you very close?" He asked, not worrying that the question was too personal because he had long since realized that there was no such thing as 'too personal' where any of his charges were concerned.

Harry had apparently come to the same conclusion, because he responded in more detail than was strictly necessary. "Yes. We were. He was my godfather's brother, like a father to me for thirteen years. He had faked his death before I was born, but re-emerged much later, in 1998, but ever since then, he fought by my side and helped me locate and destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes."

"And Mr. Weasley's family," He continued, "Did they all die that night?"

"Yes, everyone except Ginny and Hermione," Harry released shaky breath and Chris suppressed a wince as another wave of loss from Harry made his head pound dully. "So that's why Mr. Weasley won't look at me," He mused to himself, and would have lapsed into a pensive silence if Harry had not interrupted.

"What?"

Chris blinked, and then flushed as he realized he'd spoken aloud. "It's nothing," He hedged, but stopped immediately at Harry's look. Even he couldn't lie when faced with that patented don't-you-dare-lie-to-me-I'm-your-parent-and-will-see-right-through-it expression which his mother had so loved fixing him with. "Mr. Weasley hasn't looked me in the eye once since I came here," He said reluctantly, "And I've been getting the strangest vibes off him- pain, and guilt, and an odd sort of fear- not the same kind I get from Moody and some of the others-" Harry's eyebrows rose at this . Moody was afraid of Chris? He was torn between amusement and unease. It was distinctly funny to think that the hardened old Auror could still be afraid of someone four or five decades younger than him, but on the other hand Moody's instincts were rarely off the mark. Perhaps there really was reason to fear Chris? He pushed the thought away, because it made him feel traitorous, and tuned back into the conversation banishing his misgivings for now.

"Mr. Weasley lost his entire family on one day, just like I did," Chris was saying, and if his voice wavered a little on these words, Harry didn't comment on it. "Witnessing the death of my family must have brought back some very unpleasant memories for him, and he's guilty he couldn't stop it from happening a second time, which is why he refuses to look at me."

Harry stared at Chris, a little floored by this display of perceptiveness in someone who had known Ron for a grand total of three days. Chris smiled slightly at Harry's stunned expression. "It comes from being his whitelighter," He explained, "I have a connection with my charges which surpasses the bonds of family and friendship. In a week, I'll know Mr. Weasley even better than you do." It was what had allowed him to lead the Resistance so well. He could always tell when someone was distressed or anxious or scared and nip it in the bud before it blew out of proportion.

"But that doesn't make sense," Harry said, frowning, "The other whitelighters I've met have charges too, and they don't feel their emotions!"

"That's because I'm different from other whitelighters," Chris replied evenly. This aspect of his powers always made people extremely wary of him, and he couldn't blame them. It was a complete (if necessary) invasion on their privacy. "It isn't _normal_ for a whitelighter to be able to sense their charges' emotions. The only reason I'm able to do it is because one of my aunts' powers was empathy, and I inherited, but it somehow combined with my whitelighter powers so it doesn't work like hers did. My aunt could sense the emotions of anyone physically near her. For me, the power somehow combined with my whitelighter abilities, so I can sense your emotions because you're my charge. But if someone who wasn't a charge was standing nearby, I wouldn't know what they were feeling."

"But that's…don't your charges object to such an invasion on their privacy?" Moody had nearly had a fit after learning what had happened in the Great Hall.

Chris smiled slightly. "Yeah, they do. I remember the first time I was assigned a charge, when I was sixteen. The Elders had assigned me to protect my cousin Prue, because she was the most powerful of my aunts' children, and needed my protection the most. She freaked out completely when I was able to sense her emotions, especially when the Empath Blocking Potion didn't work. We both became reconciled to it eventually, because we had no other choice. By then, Wyatt had already turned evil, my father had disappeared to Elder-land, and my Aunt Paige was always more witch than whitelighter. I was the best option for protecting her."

Harry watched Chris as he became caught up in his memories, fascinated by this glimpse into how large and close-knit his family seemed to have been. As he looked more closely at the younger man's face he noted how tired he looked, and how his shadowed eyes contrasted sharply with his pale face, giving him a sickly and exhausted appearanceAll his parental instincts kicked in at once. Rising again and excusing himself for a moment, he Flooed to the Infirmary and retrieved a vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion from among the supplies.

When he returned, he noted with amusement that Chris was watching him with the same wary expression he adopted whenever the Order members started fussing over him. He had never met anyone more opposed to being cared for in his life. "It isn't poison, you know," He said, handing the vial to him, "It'll help."

"What is it?" Chris asked, eyeing the red colored liquid with trepidation.

"Dreamless Sleep Potion. I was going to give it to you earlier, but then you were already unconscious and I didn't see the sense in waking you."

Chris took the vial, debating with himself whether or not to take it. The prospect of a truly restful sleep for the first time in months was extremely inviting, and he was sick and tired of thinking. A few hours of respite were more than welcome. He downed the vial in one gulp, and felt unspeakable relief as waves of irresistible drowsiness washed over him, dulling his headache more effectively than anything else he'd taken that day. Dimly, he felt a gentle hand presss him down onto his pillow, and then Harry was working to tuck his blanket more closely around him. He closed his eyes, drinking in the sensation of being taken care of for the first time in six years.

He felt a gentle hand on his forehead, brushing a stray lock away from his face, he found himself fighting back tears. _Mom_, he thought; his mother had used to do that when he was younger. There was a soft intake of breath from above him, and he realized numbly that he must have said it aloud; but by then, he was too far gone to do anything but savor the feeling of being cared for by a parent, even if it wasn't his. As he let Harry's gentle touches carry him off to sleep, he felt more peaceful than he had in a long, long time.

…

TBC…

Please review!


	7. Hail The Victorious Dead

Title: The Lost Horcrux

Chapter 7: Hail The Victorious Dead

…

Harry sighed exhaustedly, running a hand through his unwieldy black hair and dragging his feet as he walked back to his office-cum-bedroom. He could have used the Floo, but he needed some time to think. That morning, he had announced to the entire school that Chris and his Resistance were now going to be permanent additions to their ranks. He had explained a few things about Chris and the situation in America (without going into detail about Chris's family). He had also explained that Chris was now their whitelighter and what that meant. They had not been pleased. They had demanded that the Resistance leader be brought before them so they could question his intentions. They hated the idea that this stranger now had access to their emotions.

Harry had tried to placate them, but had snapped when they refused to listen to reason. He had told them in no uncertain terms that Chris could not help his emotional connection with them, that he was in a great deal of pain because of it. He told them that Chris had been willing to endure pain to ensure their own protection against demons, who were capable of a lot worse than Death Eaters. He spoke about Chris's magical heritage, and finished by saying that if any of them were in danger, they had only call his name and Chris would be able to sense it and come to their rescue. Chris was, above all things, dedicated to protecting his charges from harm, and Harry hinted darkly at the lengths he had gone to do so for the Resistance.

His words made such an impression that rather than leaving the Hall outraged and determined to hate Chris, people left in awe of the young man. Harry was rather pleased with this accomplishment in oratory, although he knew that the reason people had been so willing to listen was that it was him who was doing the talking.

The entire Order, including Ron and Hermione, were amazed at how emotionally attached Harry had become to Chris in the space of a few days. Such behavior would not have been anything to remark on Ginny, who had famously inherited her mother's maternal instinct, but in Harry it was unusual enough for people to take note of. Moody, in typical paranoia, had gone straight to the library the second breakfast was over to research all the spells Chris could have possibly cast on him. The others, though not as suspicious as the old Auror, were also uneasy.

Harry himself was not surprised at how quickly Chris had found a place in his heart. As a rule, he tried not to get too attached to people, because he was always conscious that his role in this war was not conducive to long-term attachments. Frankly, sometimes he was amazed that he had managed to live as long as forty-five years, although that was no means even half a lifetime for a wizard. But he _understood _Chris.

Every time he looked at him, Harry saw himself as he once had been twenty years ago. And after last night, even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to stop caring for him. The lost, vulnerable look on Chris's face when Harry had tucked him into bed, and the look of love and peace when he had mistaken him for his mother had affected Harry profoundly, and broken down the last of Harry's defenses. The boy's absolute _adoration_ for his mother had literally shone through his face and Harry had been filled with a sudden, fierce and very unexpected longing for that look to be directed at him.

He had not slept a wink after that, and had spent the entire night by Chris's side, occasionally raking his hand gently through the younger man's dark locks and watching as his sleeping face softened at the action. It had been a huge relief to Harry that the Dreamless Sleep Potion was potent enough to dull Chris's pain. It meant that the young man could at least get _some_ real rest and relief, even though the Potion was too addictive for him to take more than once a week. It was a small blessing, but still a blessing nonetheless.

Harry's thoughts trailed off abruptly when he found himself in front of the Room of Requirement. He had been so lost in thoughts that he hadn't noticed where he was going. He took a deep breath, willed the door to appear, and walked in. Chris was lying on his back, his face tilted in the direction of the door. He hadn't moved from the position he'd fallen asleep in. Harry sighed when he saw the faint lines of pain etched on his face. The Potion was wearing off.

He sat down on the chair beside Chris's bed and gently shook him. The boy turned over and mumbled something about 'five minutes more,' much to Harry's amusement. He briefly contemplated allowing Chris to sleep a little, but decided against it after checking his watch. He had told the Resistance to gather in the Great Hall in an hour's time so that Chris could make his announcement. Chris would need some time to prepare himself for that.

"Chris," He said, shaking him once again, "You have to wake up. Come on."

Chris's eyes gradually fluttered open, and he sat up slowly, wincing as his head pounded at them movement.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Harry said brightly, "How are you feeling?"

"Better." A look of confusion passed over his face. "Which is odd…something's different, I shouldn't be…" His voice trailed off and his eyes widened in sudden realization. "Why is it that half my charges have gone from not knowing who I am to worshipping me?" He exclaimed. His eyes narrowed when he saw Harry's self-satisfied expression. "And _why_ are you feeling so pleased with yourself?" His eyes widened as he put two and two together. "What did you do, Mr. Potter? Did you cast a spell on them to influence the way they felt about me? Because if you did-"

"For Merlin's sake, Chris, you're nearly as paranoid as Moody!" Harry exclaimed, torn between exasperation and amusement. "Do you know, at this very moment he's in the library researching spells _you _might have cast on _me?_"

"He thinks I cast a spell on you?!" Chris asked in amazement. "_Why?_"

"Never mind," Harry shook his head, not really wanting to pursue it at the moment. "You wanted to know why your charges have suddenly changed their mind about you? Well, this morning I made them gather in the Great Hall, and I told them about you and the Resistance, and about how you were their whitelighter and what that meant."

Chris grimaced. "Let me guess. They totally flipped out when they heard that I had access their emotions." He said flatly. _Of course they did. They always do._

"At first, yes, they did. I tried to reason with them, but I'd had just about enough when they started suggesting that you were a Dark wizard spying for Voldemort. I yelled at them for ten minutes straight. I told them that you were the only thing stopping the demons from waltzing in here at any moment, and how much pain you were in, and how you would do anything to protect your charges. I sort of…made a hero out of you, the way I described you."

"But that's…" He was having hard time even imagining Harry losing his temper, let alone over him. And Harry didn't seem the type of person who could influence people through words. And it couldn't possibly have been as easy to change people's minds as Harry had made it out to be.

"They idolize me," Harry explained, sensing his confusion. "They have since I was one, when Voldemort tried to kill me. Both my parents died to save me, and my mother's love protected me when he cast the Killing Curse. The curse deflected back onto him, and I was the Boy Who Lived, the only known person to survive the Killing Curse, the one who had finally ended the Dark Lord's reign of terror. For awhile, everyone thought he was gone for good, but the Horcruxes prevented him from being completely killed. He used my blood to resurrect himself during my Fourth Year at Hogwarts, and he's been waging war on us ever since. Everyone believes that I'm the one who will defeat him again. Add to that the fact that I've been head of the Order of the Phoenix since I was eighteen, and have been leading the better part of the wizarding world ever since the Ministry of Magic was over-run by Death Eaters…well. Let's just say it wasn't that hard to convince them, all things considered."

Once, Harry had hated that the entire wizarding world was looking to _him_, a man barely out of his childhood, for leadership and protection. He had found it difficult to trust his own instincts, had relied heavily on the advice of Moody, Remus, and the Weasleys for any decisions. But with time and experience, he had accepted his role in the war-stricken world he lived in. He was no longer bothered by the fact that he was idolized for something he hadn't really done. In fact, he sometimes used it to influence people's opinions, like today. He was nowhere _near_ as good at manipulation as Dumbledore had been, and didn't pretend to be; but sometimes, when the situation called for it, the Syltherin in him would rise to the surface and take control. And he had stopped trying to fight it.

Chris pondered over Harry's words for a few moments, and then his face cleared and he nodded. "Sorry I accused you of casting a spell on them," He said, slightly sheepish. "I actually should be grateful. You spared me quite a headache, and I mean that literally. It hurts twice as much when my charges are feeling hostile towards me." He suppressed a shudder as he remembered what the last few weeks had been like. With so many of his charges starving or ill, his head had ached almost constantly, a constant reminder of their pain. Many of his charges had started to question his ability to protect them, and a few had even begun to resent him for not being able to provide for them. The resentment had hurt Chris even more than the lack of faith, and that on top of his own guilt, had completely drained him both emotionally and physically. "So thank you."

"It was nothing," Harry replied dismissively, but Chris felt Harry's sudden surge of happiness at being able to spare him pain. Chris would barely have noticed if the emotion was self-satisfaction But it was unselfish, just pure joy felt on another's behalf. The emotion spoke of a great deal of caring for him on Harry's part, and Chris was touched in spite of himself. He remembered how the older man had tucked him into bed the previous night, and how soothed he had been by the surge of paternal affection which Harry had unwittingly blessed him with through their bond. He opened his mouth to say something to acknowledge that emotion, though he wasn't sure what, but stopped when he felt a new, considerably less joyful emotion shadow the older man's spirits, as if a thought had just struck him and he'd been reminded of something unpleasant.

"What is it, Mr. Potter?" He asked. When Harry didn't reply immediately, he grew apprehensive. "What's wrong?" He asked again.

"I wish…I wish I could have spared you this somehow," Harry said in a rush, "I asked the Resistance to gather in the Great Hall at ten-thirty. I said you had an important announcement to make. I'm sorry," He added when he saw a flash of pain darken Chris's eyes.

Chris just shook his head. "It had to be done," He said, in a voice a touch hoarser than was usual. "Just let me shower, and then we can orb down to the Great Hall." He shuffled to the bathroom and leaned heavily against the door when he had closed it. He still hadn't let himself grieve for his family, and even speaking their names or thinking about them was enough to send a shard of pain straight through his soul. He stripped and stepped into the shower, reveling in the feeling of the hot water beating down on his back. Even though he had been at Hogwarts for a few days now, the novelty of a hot shower had yet to wear out.

But the water was not enough to soothe him this morning. He had given more than his share of eulogies over the years, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was going to have to do today. How was he going to break the news to them without falling apart? He felt Harry's concern grow at the amount of time he was taking. Sighing, he rinsed himself off. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to barge in here thinking he had drowned himself.

He dressed quickly and stepped out. Harry rose from his chair, relief obvious on his face. "Are you alright?" He asked, and then flushed when Chris gave him you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me expression. "Sorry. Stupid question."

Chris just shook his head, dismissing the apology. He took Harry's hand and orbed them both down to the door of the Great Hall, where Ron and Hermione were awaiting him. He could tell from the loud murmur of conversation that most of the Resistance was already gathered inside. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and walked in. A resounding cheer greeted his entry. The entire Resistance rose to their feet as one. They wanted to show their gratitude to Chris for bringing them to this place after the hell they had all lived through. The sheer force of their gratitude and relief was overwhelming enough to make him stumble, although, thankfully, everyone was too lost in giddy euphoria to notice. He adjusted quickly, however, and made his way slowly to the top of the Hall, impeded by everyone who wanted to wring his hand and thank him face to face. He did not deter them, but was acutely conscious of the fact that it was Harry who deserved their thanks.

It was a long time before everyone had clamed down enough to sit down and listen without interruptions. Chris took a deep breath and stepped forward. He saw Jennifer for the first time since the day he'd let slip about what Wyatt had done to Emma. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked exhausted. His heart lifted when he saw Hope cradled in her arms. He hadn't seen her in two days. Darryl and Sheila Morris, and their two sons Robert and Julian, were standing near her. It felt good to see Darryl on his feet, for he had been one of those who had contracted cholera. He had not been expected to last very long the last time Chris had seen him. Chris's gaze swept around the room again as he took note of other people who would not have been here today if Madam Pomefry hadn't got to them in time.

His gaze fell on Michael, who was standing silently, apart from his group of friends. He was wearing a worried expression. Chris winced as he realized the reason for it. He had told Michael that the Charmed Ones had been injured in a fight with Wyatt and were being healed at Hogwarts. Michael would be wondering where they were and why he couldn't sense them. Chris knew, looking at Michael's face, that he would take the news of his family's deaths very badly. Losing a charge was painful for any whitelighter, but Michael had not had any other charges besides the Charmed Ones and their family. His whole life had revolved around them.

He felt Harry touch his shoulder gently, jerking him from his thoughts, and realized that everyone had fallen silent and was waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat, more aware than ever of how hoarse his voice was. Madam Pomefry's Potions had not healed it. "Good morning, everyone. I trust you all enjoyed breakfast?" A number of people snorted at this blatantly euphemistic phrasing. 'Enjoyed' didn't even _begin_ to cover how they'd felt when they'd seen the lavish spread. Some of them hadn't been able to believe their eyes. "I called you all here to explain a few things," Chris said, "First; I'd like to introduce Mr. Harry Potter, and his two friends, Ron and Hermione Weasley. For those of you who don't yet know, Mr. Potter is the Headmaster of this school, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Scotland. I am extremely grateful to him, for if he had not offered his assistance to us-"

He was cut off by a tremendous round of applause and more cheering. Several people who were standing close to Harry actually came forward to thank him, some of them weeping openly. Harry returned their thanks with nods and smiles of acknowledgement; overwhelmed, but pleased. When the applause had died again, Chris resumed his speech, this time in a more sober tone. "I know you all must be wondering why I ordered you to evacuate without allowing you any say in the decision. Rest assured, I hated to exercise my authority in that way, but I'm afraid I had no choice."

The Hall stilled at his ominous tone. Apprehension began to cloud the looks of happiness, and Michael looked even more worried. Chris took a deep breath, and prayed for the strength to get through this. "You all know that my family and I left the Resistance on an important mission a week ago," He said, "But we didn't tell you what it was. We were going to retrieve the Book of Shadows from Wyatt's lair."

The Hall rang with exclamations of shock and alarm. Michael sank into his chair, his face white. The cave where Wyatt kept the Book of Shadows was the most dangerous, and the most impenetrable place in the Underworld. Over the years, Chris had sent out a number of teams to try and retrieve it, and each time had been met with failure and death. He and his family had eventually decided not to risk more lives on something so futile and had moved on to focus on other matters. But as Wyatt's power grew, conditions both aboveground and in the Resistance grew steadily worse. The last straw had been when Wyatt had destroyed the Resistance's supply system.

"You know how desperate things became after we stopped getting supplies," Chris said, "Offence was the only form of defense available to us. The Book of Shadows contains valuable information on how to vanquish some of Wyatt's most powerful demons. A weapon like that would have been enough to turn the tide of our fortunes in this war, if only we could get it from Wyatt."

Chris paused for a moment, bracing himself to tell the hard part of the story. He and his family had planned a desperate, but daring mission, aided by Bianca, who, as a former assassin, had explicit knowledge of how Wyatt had reorganized the Underworld. Armed with knowledge they had not had before, they had thought they had a good chance of at least getting _near_ the cave without interference. As the job needed a great deal of magic for it to succeed, all of them, including Bianca, had been needed for it. It had been a huge risk, because if Chris and the other Haliwells had died, the Resistance would have fallen apart in a week's time, but with everyone starving and plagued by disease anyway, it had been a 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' situation.

And then things had gone horribly wrong. Wyatt had managed to make his probes, which had previously been unable to detect anyone orbing directly into or out of the Resistance thanks to Chris's spells, sense and track anyone orbing into the Underworld. Wyatt had known they were there moments after their arrival. He had waited until they approached the Book of Shadows, and had blocked their way out by sending an army of demons to capture them. They were so outnumbered that, although they managed to make a significant dent in their attackers' ranks, they had all been caught eventually. Then Wyatt had ordered his demons to shimmer them to the entrance of the Haliwell Manor museum.

He had arrived on the scene and with a typical flair for drama, and destroyed their home right before their eyes; in the process killing number of innocents who had been inside the museum at the time. It had been a blatant and very effective psychological blow for the entire family, Chris thought in retrospect, and the first indication of how badly Wyatt had wanted the book. His brother had always placed a great deal of store on his heritage, and it would have taken a great deal for him to even consider destroying his own museum.

"And after that, Wyatt ordered his minions away, cloaked the place, and…and…" His voice choked of his own accord, and he was forced to stop. The entire Hall was silent, hanging onto his every word. Chris looked away from their wide, frightened eyes and swallowed hard. "He wanted information, the location of one of the books we were able to save from Magic School. Ordinarily, I would have given it to them, but it was in SH 5." There were gasps of horror from everywhere, and many of the people who had lived in that safe-house paled when they realized the kind of danger they had nearly been exposed to. "Naturally, I didn't tell him where it was, but that didn't stop him from trying to get it out of me," He swallowed again. "When I refused to break down, he…he tortured and killed…_everyone_. They're all dead."

For a moment, there was utter silence. And then Chris's head exploded with pain as the combined grief and outrage of all his charges battered him at once. For a moment, he thought he was going to fall under the onslaught, but Harry's hand on his shoulder brought him back to his senses. The older wizard forced him down onto a chair, but he was too distracted to register it.

Jennifer was the first to say anything coherent. "But you said they were all fine!" She burst out. The Hall began to buzz angrily. "You said they were here, healing from their injuries!"

Chris met her gaze evenly. "I'm sorry I lied to you, but I had no choice. When they died, half the defenses around the safe-houses collapsed. Wyatt would have found us in four days. I had to act fast, and I didn't want panic and grief to disrupt the evacuation." He looked around the Hall. "You _know_ how I get when all of you are experiencing powerful emotions at the same time," He gestured to his head. Some of the anger faded a bit at the words. Chris's migraines were notorious throughout the Resistance, and as a whole they felt guilty about being the cause of them. "I know that some of you, at least, I should have been honest with from the start."

He looked at Michael, had collapsed onto the floor, his shoulders heaving with sobs, and then at the shell-shocked Darryl, and at Sheila, who was crying softly into her hands. Their sons, good friends of his, shot him sympathetic looks. Jennifer's face was blank an unreadable. She was clinging to Hope so tightly that Chris worried for a moment that his daughter might be having difficulty breathing.

"Those of you who knew my family best deserved that, but I couldn't deal with telling some of you and not all of you."

By this time, most of his charges' anger had disappeared. It was the reference to them as 'my family' which had done it. He had reminded them of who was suffering the deepest loss, and of how that person had embraced that loss in order to protect them. Awe and wonder was beginning to take hold. The mortals, who had always looked upon Chris with a measure of distrust because he was Wyatt's brother, were now looking at him with admiration and humility. Confronted with what he had sacrificed for their safety, and wondering how they would have fared in the same position, their perceptions of him had been changed irrevocably. It was rather a welcome change for Chris, although he was not comfortable with the fact that some of them now seemed to worship the ground he walked on.

Nor was he at all comfortable with the pity, but there was little he could do about that. Of course people would pity him. He had lost his entire family in the worst way imaginable. But he had never before fully appreciated the subtle difference between pity and compassion, which was wafting towards him from Harry's direction. It was gentle and soothing, and though he tried to suppress the thought, even paternal. It was also the only thing that kept him composed when he reached the hardest part of the speech; the eulogy. He rose.

"They were the best family anyone could ever have asked for," He said, his voice cracking and grating horribly. The rock lodged firmly above his Adams Apple was making its presence felt again, and it was painful for him to speak. "They fought for us on countless occasions, and all of them would readily have laid their lives down for those they held dear." He did not mention that in spite of that, Wyatt's torture had broken all of them eventually. Every one of them had begged Wyatt and Chris for their lives before the end. The lack of dignity in their deaths was nearly as painful to Chris as their loss.

"If I were to try to express in words every good deed my family has done, everything they have meant to me…to all of us, we'd be here for days. They were the Charmed Ones and their kin, the ultimate champions of good magic, and their legends are enough to inspire us for a number of years to come. They will live through us, and within us. I like to think they are watching over us as we speak."

_What the hell am I babbling about?_ He wondered silently. They were his family, and he was talking describing them in the abstract, as though they were heroes, or soldiers. But then, he thought, no one wanted to hear about the other things. He alone would remember Phoebe's brilliant smile and Paige's droll sense of humor and Melinda's bizarre food cravings at odd hours of the night which had led them all to believe she was pregnant when she wasn't.

He debated mentioning Bianca, but decided against it. No one present besides himself would appreciate anything good he said about her, because all of them remembered her as the assassin who had been hired to kill the Resistance leader but who had ended up falling in love with him instead. Besides, he wasn't sure if he _could_ talk about her. Very few people had understood the bond between them. Even Phoebe, in spite of being married to a demon herself, hadn't understood how he could care for her so much when she had tried to kill him. But Chris had loved her with everything he had, and losing her was in some ways worse than losing his entire family, because she had been the only person who had fully understood him. He didn't think he could talk about her without breaking into sobs.

"To conclude, I would like to propose a toast in memory of those who gave their lives so that we might live to see today." All the goblets that had been placed on the tables filled with champagne. Chris walked up to the table closest and picked up one. "To Mrs. Phoebe Haliwell-Turner and Mr. Cole Turner, and their daughters Prue and Penelope Haliwell-Turner. To Mrs. Paige Haliwell-Montana, and Mr. Richard Montana, and their daughter and son Melinda and Mathew Halliwell-Montana. To my fiancée, Miss Bianca Davies." He raised his glass and finished with a line from one of his favorite movies. "Hail the victorious dead!"

He raised his goblet and drank, and everyone else followed suit. They observed a few minutes' silence, broken only by the sound of a few sobs. After that, everyone began to disperse. Chris sank into his chair, and tried to calm his breathing. His hands were shaking. He knew he was inches away from a breakdown. All the emotions he had been suppressing over the last few days were rising slowly to the surface, and he could do nothing to stop him. Fortunately, everyone seemed either too wrapped up in their own sorrow, or too hesitant, to approach him. He didn't think he could have handled a stream of condolences at the moment. He felt someone touch his shoulder, and looked up to see Harry gazing at him with an extremely strange expression. It was a mixture of understanding, concern, and an odd brand of determination.

"I need to speak with you." His demeanor indicated that it was something important.

Feeling apprehensive, Chris nodded and followed Harry out of the Hall, and into an empty classroom. "There's something I need to give you," Harry began once they had both sat down. "I tried to spare you this as long as possible, but I don't think I can anymore. You need to face this." He reached down and pulled something out of his pocket. Chris's eyes widened and his face drained of all color when he saw what it was.

….

TBC…

"Hail the victorious dead," is a line from Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. Theoden says it when honoring those that fell at Helm's Deep.

I had to make up Bianca's last name, because I can't seem to find it anywhere. I checked on the IMDB cast list for Chris-Crossed, and her last name wasn't given. I haven't come across her last name in any of the other fics I've read either.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review!


	8. Breakdown

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 8: Breakdown

…

For a long moment, Chris couldn't speak. "Where did you get this?" He asked at last, in a choked voice.

Harry closed his eyes briefly at the amount of sheer pain in those haunted green eyes. He knew this was necessary, but that didn't make it any easier. "After we knocked you out, I slid it off her finger," He answered, regretting his wording a moment later when Chris blanched, remembering what Wyatt had done to Bianca's other fingers. "I thought you would want it. We were there two hours before she died. I heard enough to know that you loved her very much." There was an audible hitch in Chris's breathing. His hands shook as they took hold of the slender golden band, fingering it with an expression of painful, unadulterated longing.

Harry's heart clenched in sympathy for Chris. He had watched his changing expressions throughout the eulogy he had made, and had come to the conclusion that Chris was in desperate need of emotional release. He had wondered for awhile if Chris would be offended if he tried to force him into having a breakdown. After all, he had only met him a few days ago, so it might come across as too presumptuous. But he had also sensed that Chris kept even his closest friends at an arm's length. The image he portrayed to the Resistance was that of a nearly infallible leader. No one but another leader could understand the fragility that was always hiding behind the façade.

And today, that façade had come dangerously close to breaking into a thousand pieces. The only way Chris had managed to remain composed was by dehumanizing his family and describing them as legends, and not as people. Harry was afraid of what that portended for the future, because they had a difficult time ahead of them. If it was inevitable that Chris was going to fall apart at some point, (and it _was_, even if the stubborn boy refused to admit it even to himself), then Harry would rather have him fall apart in private than in front of the entire Resistance. For days, he had not told Chris he had Bianca's ring, knowing that the younger man wouldn't allow himself give in to his grief until his charges were safe, and not wanting to make things more difficult for him. And now that they were, Chris had a period of respite. A brief one, because Harry knew Voldemort and Wyatt and the world at large would once again surface to bite them in the ass. And when that happened, Chris's leadership would be needed again. And Harry wanted it at its strongest then.

"I know it must have torn you apart to see her die in so much pain," He said.

Chris looked at him, wild-eyed, and made a small, strangled sound. His hands were clenched so tightly around the ring that his knuckles were turning white, but he still refused to say a word.

Harry reached out and gripped Chris's shoulder tightly. "For Merlin's sake," He said, abandoning all attempts at disguising what he was doing, "It's killing me to do this to you, Chris, but you have to let this go or mark my words, it will _tear you to pieces._ I tried not to grieve when Regulus and the others died; I told myself I didn't have the luxury of breaking when so many people were depending on me." Chris raised his head at this, and Harry felt a surge of relief that the young man was finally _listening_ to him. "But I was wrong," He continued, "I was only human, and I did break down. I lost control of my emotions completely- and that is the _worst_ thing, the _worst_ thing, that can happen to someone in our position. You feel that you will be failing the people you're protecting if you give into your grief now. It will be nothing compared to how you'll feel if you break down when they need you the most."

Harry suppressed a shudder at the memories. The only thing that had gotten him through that time was Hermione, who had supported both him and Ron in their grief. But Chris didn't _have_ a Hermione, or a Ron for that matter, in his life. The sole responsibility for the lives of eight thousand people fell squarely on his shoulders. There was no one qualified to help him lead now that his family was dead. If he died, there was no one who could succeed him. He was completely isolated in his leadership. "Look Chris," Harry said when Chris failed to respond to his words, "This reprieve, it isn't going to last very long. And people like you and me can't afford to not use times like these for ourselves, or we'd lose everything that's making us sane."

Chris's head bowed and he released a shaky breath. "It's not that I don't want to grieve for them," He said, and Harry winced at the sound of his voice, which was even worse than usual. "I do. You don't know how guilty it makes me feel that I couldn't-" he swallowed hard- "give them a proper burial. I'm just afraid that if I start crying for them now, I won't be able to stop." His eyes fell on the ring again, and suddenly, the dam he had built over his emotions broke.

His face twisted in agony, and he hastily buried it in his arms so Harry wouldn't have to see it. His entire body shook with powerful sobs. All he could hear was his own choked breaths. He felt Harry's concern wash over him like a balm, and a moment later, the older man rose and rubbed his back soothingly. Chris closed his eyes tightly as more tears ran down his cheeks. It had been _so long_ since he had been comforted by someone. He had forgotten how wonderful it could feel. It had been even longer since he had allowed himself to weep with such abandon. The last time had been when he had first realized what his once beloved elder brother had become; what he was capable of. Now that the emotions he had been suppressing for so many years were unleashed, they gushed forward with almost more force than his body could contain. It was like a purging; at once intensely painful and giving him profound relief.

He cried for two hours. He was very glad that he had learned how to disassociate his emotions from his magic, because otherwise the castle would probably have been in shambles because of the extent of his anguish. When the tears ran out, dry sobs continued to shake his shoulders, until he was all but wheezing. Harry was a steady presence at his side, offering what comfort he could. He had placed a few spells on the doors to repel anybody who came looking for them, and had clearly made up his mind to remain with him for as long as he was needed.

After his sobs had died down, he talked. He told Harry about Bianca, how he had met her, and how he had fallen in love with her. She had been sent by Wyatt to kill him when he was seventeen, but they had been so evenly matched that it was almost impossible for either of them to best the other. Chris had often wondered why she had been allowed to live when she failed time after time in killing him. The truth was, Chris had realized, Bianca was the only Phoenix witch loyal to Wyatt who would have stood a chance against him. And evil and ruthless though he might be, Wyatt was still unable to stomach the idea of killing his baby brother by himself. Some part of the old Wyatt; and the powerful bond they had shared in childhood must have remained inside him. Every time he was on a mission for the Resistance, Bianca had invariably turned up and created havoc. They had bantered back and forth during their intense battles- usually a deadly combination of martial arts (which Chris had learnt from his Aunt Phoebe), and magical attacks- and had learnt more about each other through verbal sparring than they could have done in lifetimes of knowing each other. Both of them had relished battling with such evenly matched opponents.

It wasn't long before they had stopped trying so hard to kill each other. Once, Bianca had had her back to Chris, and he had pretended not to notice. And sometimes, on bad days, Chris would give Bianca openings which she could have used to seriously injure him, but she wouldn't take them. Neither of them had been willing to confront the in explicable almost-friendship that had grown between them.

One day, Chris had been exhausted because of sleep deprivation and battling a host of demons, and Bianca had had to face Wyatt's ire over failing to kill Chris. Frustrated, she had taken advantage of his exhaustion, and had soon had him on the floor with a knife to his throat. But even though she tried, she couldn't bring herself to kill him. That moment of hesitation on her part was enough for him to snatch the knife from her hand and reverse their positions. But he hadn't been able to kill her either. They had been forced to confront the friendship, the connection that had formed between them. And Chris had given Bianca a choice. Either they would continue to fight till one of them was dead, or Bianca could turn her back on Wyatt and join the Resistance, and him. It had not been a difficult choice for Bianca. She had never enjoyed killing (though she'd managed to harden herself against it over the years), and her mother had already died at Wyatt's hand. The only reason she still served him was what he would do to her if she didn't. Now that she had a way out, she took it in a heartbeat. They had become firm friends, and not long after Emma had died giving birth to Hope; lovers.

"That's quite a story," Harry commented when Chris ceased speaking. He had no idea what else to say. He'd had no idea that Chris had had to go through so much to finally be with Bianca. It must have been an even harsher blow for him to have lost her after all that.

Chris smiled a pained, sad smile. "It sounds like that, doesn't it?" He said, "It sounds like this amazing romance, the kind you read about in books or watch in movies. But it _really_ complicated our lives. My entire family was suspicious of her, even after she spied on Wyatt and his minions and repeatedly fed us information that helped us save the lives of countless innocents. My Aunt Phoebe was supportive, because she herself was married to a half- demon. But everyone else…"

He shook his head. "I tried a million times to distance myself from her; tried to tell myself that she wasn't worth the rift I was causing in my family. But we had a connection that I couldn't turn my back on. She understood me better than anyone else. Do you know, it kills me to say it, but I'll miss her even more than I'll miss my own family? I knew her for a fraction of a time I knew them, but I was closest to her. The rest of my family- I loved them, but I was especially close to them. It used to be me and mom and Wyatt, and when mom died and Wyatt was turned, I was the odd one out. And my relationship with Bianca caused me to drift apart from them even further. I miss them, and the memories of…of how they died will haunt me to my dying day, but I know I'll be able to move past _their_ deaths. It's Bianca's death which is tearing me apart." He shuddered. "I don't think I'll ever get over her." This last was spoken in a bare, unsteady whisper.

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. You _will_ get over her. Life moves on, even if you don't want it to. When Regulus died, I thought I'd never heal from _his _death. He was like a father to me, and he understood me better than anyone else in my life. And yet, here I am, happy and with a family and wonderful friends. You were able to move on after Emma died. Why should it be any different with Bianca?"

Chris's face changed. "My relationship with Emma wasn't the same," He muttered, "I didn't love her the way I loved Bianca. She was my high school sweetheart, that's all. My relationship with her was like…like the runner up to the real thing."

_Like Cho could have been for me if we hadn't had the complication of Cedric always coming between us_, Harry concluded. He had suspected as much. But it didn't change what he was trying to tell Chris, so he said, "Even so, you _will_ get over Bianca. You're very young, Chris. You have your entire life ahead of you. You'll meet knew people, make new friends. And one day, you'll find someone who means just as much to you as Bianca did, just in a different way."

"The very thought of it makes me feel as though I'm betraying her," Chris replied with obvious revulsion.

"That's because you aren't ready for it yet," Harry replied, with more conviction than he felt. While he wholeheartedly believed that time healed all wounds, he wasn't sure that Chris would ever let himself love anyone else, because he would feel as though he was betraying Bianca if he did. But the young man needed some hope to cling to, or he would be completely consumed in his own sorrow; and Harry was prepared to lie to give it to him.

"You really think I'll ever be ready?" Chris asked skeptically.

"Yes," He replied, "I think that one day, you'll be able to look around you and not think about the people who aren't there, but appreciate the people that are."

Chris stared at Harry for a long moment, wondering if he _dared_ to hope for the picture Harry was painting for him. Mulling it over, he decided to bow to the older man's experience, something he would have never done in normal circumstances (he was, after all, a good deal younger than most of the Resistance). But it was different with Harry. He too had lost the person who understood him best, when he was not much older than Chris was. And he seemed fairly content with what life had dealt him. So he met Harry's gaze and nodded, smiling a little at the surge of joy and relief he felt from the older man.

"Thank you," He said earnestly, and then paused in surprise and realization. "My voice is better. It's raw and hoarse from all the crying, but it's not cracking anymore."

Harry smiled broadly.

"You're not surprised?" Chris asked.

"No," He shook his head. "I was concerned when Madam Pomefry's Potions didn't improve your voice, so I asked her about it. She said your sore throat was psychosomatic, probably because you were suppressing your grief over what had happened. She said it was like a lump stuck in your throat?" Chris nodded, stunned by this revelation, and also noting that the afore-mentioned lump was gone. Harry continued, "It was one of the things that convinced me of how much you needed this breakdown."

Chris looked at him, touched that he had not only taken the trouble to speak to Madam Pomefry about his throat, but had also cared enough to orchestrate this, for lack of a better word, intervention. "Thank you," He said softly, "I really needed this…it's really helped."

Harry smiled, more relieved than anything else. "You're very welcome."

…

The next day, Harry poked his head into Chris's room. "I hate to do this to you," Harry said, grimacing slightly at how long the so-called 'reprieve' had lasted. "But there are a couple of things we need to discuss, and they can't wait."

"Of course they can't," Chris replied in a flat tone, because when could they _ever?_ Although, truth told, he was actually grateful that they were back to business as usual. The previous day's breakdown had ripped open a number of wounds in his heart, and he knew from experience that he the best way to deal with that was to keep busy. "I'm all ears," He added when he saw Harry hesitate at his tone of voice.

"Well, we have another safe-house apart from Hogwarts which has been an Order stronghold for decades now. I own it as a matter of fact; I inherited it from Sirius after he died- it's called Number 12, Grimauld Place. The problem is that the enchantment that you used to protect Hogwarts from people randomly orbing in and out of it is preventing the people I've posted there from entering the castle. And some very important members of the Order live there, so…"

"Right," Chris nodded, "How many are there?"

"25 at the moment," Harry replied.

"25. That isn't too bad. I'll have Adrian come with us as soon as you're ready to go and he can assign them to me as charges-"

"What?!" Harry exclaimed as he realized what the young man intended to do, "You must be joking! There is no way in _hell_ I'm letting you take on any more charges! Your headaches are bad enough already, without _more_…"

"Come on, Mr. Potter, I have _20, 000_ charges already," Chris said, rolling his eyes, "_25 _more isn't going to kill."

"But there must be some other way," Harry insisted, not willing to back down.

"No, actually there isn't," Chris replied, quickly latching onto this line of argument now that it had been presented to him. "The crystals are linked to me. They'll allow my charges to enter and exit Hogwarts, and no one else. _We _can still enter the house if we want to, but they can't enter Hogwarts unless Adrian assigns them to me. It's as simple as that."

Harry contemplated him for a moment, trying to think up some way around this, but finally had to sigh in resignation. "Fine," he said, throwing up his hands.

"There's no need to feel guilty," Chris said in surprise. "This isn't your fault."

"Yes, but you're taking on so much pain to protect people you aren't even responsible for. And that, at my request."

"You _didn't_ request me, actually; I offered first," Chris reminded him, "And after everything you've done to help my people- who _you_ aren't responsible for either, by the way- it's a very small price to pay." He quickly changed the subject before Harry could argue. "You said there were a _couple_ of things that you needed to talk to me about. What's the other one?"

"The Order meeting where we have to discuss your brother and the Horcrux is tonight," Harry answered. "Everyone wants to know who you are and whether we can trust you and all the rest of it. It can't be put off any longer; you know we've already postponed it once because of what happened yesterday..."

"Yeah, I know," Chris replied, nodding. "Thanks for the heads up. I'll have to find that book Wyatt wanted. I imagine the Order will want to study it."

"Yes, they certainly will," Harry agreed. "When will you be ready to go to Grimauld Place? I'm sorry I'm being so insistent, but my daughter and her cousins were due back last night since there winter break is now officially over, but I completely forgot about it due to all the excitement. They must be worried sick. And if there's an emergency; not that that's likely, but…"

"Of course, I understand. We'll go right now. Adrian!"

The Elder materialized in front of them. "Yes?"

Harry quickly explained the situation to him, and although Adrian raised the same objections to Chris taking on more charges, he finally had to concede that there was no other way. They orbed up to Harry's office. Since neither Chris nor Adrian knew what it looked like, they couldn't orb directly into Grimauld Place. That left the Floo. It was an experience unlike any other that Chris had had, and if he had it his way, he would never repeat it. The spinning around had done little to help his ever-present headache, and the soot had burned his lungs. No sooner had he managed to re-orient himself after stumbling inelegantly out of the fireplace did a blur of long legs and red hair flew past him and launch itself at Harry.

"Dad!"

"Lily," Harry smiled, reaching up to stroke his daughter's hair. "I'm sorry if I worried you, I-"

"_Worried_ me! We thought Voldemort had ambushed Hogwarts! I was practically out of my mind!" Now that she was standing still, Chris could see her more clearly. She looked to be about seventeen. She clearly took after Ginny appearance-wise; save for her eyes, which were Harry's through and through. She was very attractive, and Chris imagined that Harry had a hard time restraining all the young men at Hogwarts who were interested in her.

"Hogwarts is still perfectly safe, thank heavens," Harry was reassuring her, "We were-"

"Uncle Harry!" Two more beings raced into the room, followed closely by a number of others, all of whom were looking profoundly relieved.

"Sirius, Molly," Harry greeted his nephew and niece with warm smiles. Sirius Weasley was a tall, strapping young man of about eighteen, with red hair and blue eyes. He looked very much like his father. His sister was a girl of about fifteen, and her most noticeable feature was her bushy hair.

After Harry had reassured everyone that Hogwarts was perfectly safe, and that he and the rest of their loved ones were perfectly fine, he introduced Chris to them and explained the situation to them. Again, when he got to the part about the emotional link Chris would have to them if he became their whitelighter, there was a general outcry. Chris restrained himself from rolling his eyes with difficulty. This was just getting _old._ He waited in silence while Harry gave yet another speech which made him out to be a paragon of virtue and heroism, and then Adrian stepped forward to assign the people gathered in the room to him as charges. It was more painful than he had expected, even though it was a very small number of people. He was barely standing by the time it was done. As people dispersed, giving him looks of awe mingled with fear, Harry guided him to a chair and handed him a vial of Pain Relieving Potion.

"Drink," He said, and Chris did, sighing with relief as the pain diminished. To his amazement, the vial instantly refilled itself.

"It's a self-replenishing vial of Pain Relieving Potion," Harry explained, "I want you to keep it."

"_That_ explains how Potions are so readily available around here!" Chris exclaimed, "I was wondering about that. That's really amazing."

"Actually, Potions are readily available because the ingredients for most of them grow in the Forbidden Forest. We're able to replenish are stock with relative ease. Self-replenishing vials are rare."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "How rare?" He already knew he couldn't possibly accept it.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said instead, "It's a gift. You don't ask questions about it, you keep it."

Chris wasn't buying it. "How rare?" He repeated in a tone that brooked no evasion.

Harry sighed theatrically. "The Order only has two in its possession," He admitted, "One of them we gave to Snape- he's our spy, which is the most dangerous job in the Order, so we decided he needed it the most. Greasy git." He added under his breath, but without much heat.

Chris raised an eyebrow at the epithet, but decided to defer questions until later. "And you want to give _me_ the other one," He stated incredulously, "Why?"

"You're the one who needs it most," Harry answered, sounding as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're in near-constant pain because of how many charges you have. And you've done so much to protect the Order that it's the least we can do."

Chris frowned at this, as he thought he owed the Order much more than they owed him, but he was forced to concede that he probably _did _need the Potion the most. Just _knowing_ he had such a thing on his person, readily available, would be a huge relief.

"Come on, Chris," Harry pressed him, and Chris caved.

"Alright. I'll take it. But only until I get used to having so many charges. After that, I'm giving it back."

Before Harry could reply to this, Lily, who had been listening to the entire exchange in silence, broke into the conversation. "Dad? I hate to do this to you, but you said that anyone who wasn't Chris's charge wouldn't be able to enter Hogwarts, right?" Harry and nodded. "That would include Snape too, right? Because he's back. And he's the only one in the house who didn't come rushing in here when he found out you were not safe."

"Snape's back?" Harry asked, with no small amount of dread as he tried to picture how the Potions Master would react to the idea of a perfect stranger having access to all of his emotions. The image of Snape's face the moment after he had caught Harry in his Pensieve three decades ago flashed briefly before his eyes, and he was only able to say two words. "Oh, no."

…

TBC…

As you can imagine, there will be lots of fireworks next chapter! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I will be going out of town (for a holiday to England) from May 6th to May 19th, so don't expect any updates until after I'm back. Please review!


	9. Wounds Hidden, Now Revealed

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 9: Wounds Hidden, Now Revealed

WARNING: There are some graphic descriptions of physical injuries in this chapter that might disturb the faint of heart. Be warned…

…

Trying not to show how apprehensive he was, Harry strode into the kitchen-cum-dining room where Lily had told him Snape was waiting. The man in question was seated at the dining table, leafing through a book on Potions.

"Potter." The eternally grim Potions Master, dressed, as always, in forbidding black robes, greeted him with a sneer, "I see that you're alive."

Harry rolled his eyes, not in the least perturbed by this less than warm greeting. Some things never changed. "Snape," He replied, affecting a tone of great disappointment, "So are you."

The two men glared at each other for a moment, more out of force of habit than otherwise, and then Harry sat down opposite Snape.

"How was the meeting?"

"Just wonderful, Potter," said Snape, with supreme sarcasm, "We had tea and cakes and then we all played Sardines with the Dark Lord. It was quite the little tea party."

Harry grimaced. "That bad?" He asked, "I thought you said it was only a standard raid?"

"It was supposed to be," Snape replied, "I was to make him a few inventive Dark Potions for him and the others to use- that _is_ why he always summons me much earlier than the others - but three days ago, when he had come to check on my progress, he was suddenly summoned away-"

"_Summoned?_" Harry interrupted him, "Are you sure?"

"I can think of no other word to describe it. He dropped the vial in his hand and clutched his heart in pain, and then disappeared. I am quite certain that it wasn't Apparation; I have never seen anything like it before. He returned a full two hours later, but he seemed…weaker…than normal." Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise and alarm. What could be powerful enough to weaken…the answer before he could complete the thought. _Wyatt._ His day was just getting worse by the second.

"He was greatly agitated about something," Snape was saying when he tuned back into the conversation, "And continued to be so throughout the raid." His sallow face tightened slightly, and Harry winced. An agitated Voldemort was _not_ conducive to people's continued wellbeing, and Snape must have had to bear some of the brunt of that.

Harry sat back, troubled. "This is bad."

Snape gave him a withering look. "You're skills at deduction continue to amaze, Potter," He sneered, "Sometimes I wonder how the Order is still functioning with you at its helm. Your gross ineptitude will be the death of us all, mark my words." There was a time when Harry would have bristled at this insult, but after decades of enduring Snape's scathing tongue, he had long since stopped reacting to such comments. "What happened to the Floo system today?" Snape changed the subject. "Why was I unable to get in?"

"Erm," Harry said, suddenly apprehensive again. "I'll probably need to introduce you to someone to explain that. Chris!"

Chris, who had been waiting outside, walked rather than orbed in so as not to startle Snape. "Chris, this is Severus Snape; Snape-"

"Oh, my God," Chris interrupted harshly. He was staring at Snape with one hand pressed to his mouth in horror. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Snape stared at Chris in confusion, and then comprehension, followed, by rage, and shock, dawned on his features. He leapt to his feet and whipped out his wand, pointing it at Chris's chest and glaring at the young man with the most menacing expression he could muster. Chris, for his part, was still looking at Snape with that stunned, horrified expression. He seemed to be almost unaware that he was being held at wandpoint by someone.

"Snape, put that down right now! And what are you talking about, Chris?" When neither of them responded, Harry looked between them with obvious confusion. "What the _hell_ is going on here?"

Chris looked at Harry with an expression of disbelief. "Mr. Potter, can't you _see_…?" Now it was his turn to look from Snape to Harry in confusion, before suddenly, his face cleared. "Oh," He said, "A glamour right?" Snape nodded slowly, cautiously. "I can see past them," Chris explained, "Seeing past glamours is one of my powers…"

"Powers?" Snape asked warily.

Harry interrupted before Chris could explain. "A glamour," He said, closing his eyes briefly as if in pain. So many little, unexplained instances were starting to make sense now. "How long?" He asked harshly.

"Potter…" Snape began, but Harry shook his head.

"No," He insisted, his face hard, "I need to know what he's been doing to you. All these years, I've been sending you to him…" He swallowed hard. "For how long have you had to hide what he does to you, Snape? When did you first start wearing the glamour?"

Snape's eyes glittered in the firelight, but he did not evade the question, perhaps because he knew Harry wouldn't tolerate that. "In1997," He replied evenly.

Harry closed his eyes again, and then opened them with a determined expression. "Take it off."

"What?"

"Take the glamour off. I want to see what he's done to you. What you've sacrificed to gather information for the Order. Come on, Snape," He added as Snape continued to hesitate. "I'm waiting."

"Potter, it is not that simple," Snape began, "I used a very powerful enchantment; it will take time-"

Chris interrupted with a spur-of-the-moment spell. "Let hidden wounds now be revealed, and cause the unseen to become seen."

Snape's glamour fell away. There was a stunned silence, and then Harry sank heavily down onto his chair, his eyes traveling up and down Snape's form. It was both better and worse than he had feared it would. Snape's face was relatively undamaged, except for a scar at his temple and a small burn mark on his cheek. But he looked paler than Harry was accustomed to seeing him and his eyes were ringed with circles so dark that they might have been bruises. His throat was covered with raw, angry looking red marks, which, even though they weren't bleeding, looked incredibly painful. His robes hung off him, and he looked to be half-starved, almost skeletal, like Chris did. But what disturbed Harry most of all was that the front of Snape's robes was darkly stained…with blood.

Snape, for his part, was staring at Chris in shock. "How in Merlin's name did you do that?" He asked when he found his voice, "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm sorry, I probably should have explained before I did that," Chris replied, "My name is Christopher Haliwell-"

"Wait a minute, _Haliwell?_" Snape's eyes were wide with amazement. "_The_ Haliwells? You can't mean mean you're actually…"

"…related to the Charmed Ones? Yes, I do." Snape was the first person from Hogwarts to have recognized the name.

"You're Piper Haliwell's son, aren't you?" Snape breathed, studying Chris's features intently. "You resemble her most."

"Yes. I am." Now Chris was even more surprised. How did Snape know what his family looked like. Had he actually met them?

"How do you know the Haliwells, Snape?" Harry entered the conversation, his voice strained. His eyes were still on the dark stain on the front of Snape's robes.

"I had an…encounter…with them," Snape replied, "About 28 years ago."

Harry did a quick calculation in his head. "That would be1997," He said, "The same year you first had to start wearing a glamour. Could your 'encounter' with them possibly have anything to do with why Voldemort was so displeased with you that you had to start wearing a glamour to hide the marks of his rage? In the _same_ year that you proved your supposed loyalty to him by killing Dumbledore?"

There had been a time when Harry had hated Snape for what he had done. Even after he had found out that Dumbledore had already been dying from the curse that had destroyed his hands earlier that year, and had _ordered_ Snape to kill him so that he could gain a place in Voldemort's most trusted circle of Death Eaters, his opinion of Snape had remained unchanged. But as the years went by, Harry had been forced to work with Snape in his capacity as the Order's head. Those first few years, when he, barely out of his teens, had had the responsibility for the whole of wizarding Britain thrust upon him, had been bumpy to say the least. His interactions with Snape during those times had been…decidedly unpleasant. Snape had loathed having his former and most hated student in a position of authority above him, and Harry had continued to blame Snape in spite of the fact that Dumbledore's carefully preserved Pensieve memories said otherwise.

But as the years passed, Harry had come to realize that what Snape had done was an act of courage which even he wouldn't be capable of if put to the test; Gryffindor or not. Snape had also grudgingly accepted that Harry was a competent leader. When the two interacted with each other in any official capacity, they kept the insults to a minimum and treated each other with the respect due to their respective positions. The rest of the time, though, Snape still talked Harry as though he was still his student. It was a compromise which allowed them both to interact with each other without losing face, and in spite of the occasional blow-ups they continued to have even now, they accepted it without question. This was the first time in a long time that he had had to prod Snape so much to get one decent answer out of him.

"Well?" He asked in exasperation, when Snape did not answer. "I need to know, Snape. I'm the one who sends you to spy on him; I'm the one who's responsible…"

"You presumptuous boy!" Snape spat out furiously, towering over him menacingly Harry suddenly felt as though he was fifteen years old again and back in Potions class. "How dare you assume that everything is always about you? Did it ever occur to you that the reason why the Dark Lord cursed me with wounds that will not heal is because of something _I _did, and nothing to do with you, or Dumbledore, or the fact that I am a spy!"

There was a stunned silence following this outburst. Then Harry, looking as though he might be ill, asked very faintly, "Your wounds won't heal?"

Snape shook his head slowly, still breathing hard, but trying to control his rage. "_One_ will not heal," He said quietly, "The others…simply take more time than they should."

"How much time?" Harry asked, "How long have you had those marks on your neck, for example?"

"Since my last meeting," Snape replied in a stiff, expressionless voice.

"That was three weeks ago!"

Snape glared. "Why, thank you, Potter, I had completely forgotten."

Harry scrutinized him for a moment, a thousand emotions running flitting across his face in rapid succession. Then his eyes hardened with determination. "Take off your robes."

"I _beg_ your pardon?!" Snape asked, outraged.

"I want to see all your wounds!" Harry shot back, "If you don't take them off, I'll invoke the right of the recognized head of the Order of the Phoenix, and command you, by the magic that binds you to me as mine to lead!"

"You wouldn't dare." Snape's eyes were dark with anger as he recognized what Harry was threatening him with. That was an ancient and very powerful enchantment, and if Harry chose to invoke his rights, Snape would be _forced_ to obey against his will. His voice was low and menacing, but Harry stared him down.

"Try me," Harry replied with quiet conviction. Whatever Snape might say or feel to the contrary, he was still, because of his position, responsible for the older man's wellbeing. So one way or another, he was _going_ to get the bottom of this.

Still glaring daggers at Harry, but knowing when he had lost, Snape reluctantly shrugged off his robes, leaving him standing before them in a plain white shirt and black trousers. Chris and Harry both stared in horror. Snape's hands and arms were completely covered with cuts and small lacerations, and big, purple bruises which were painful to look at. And the shirt was completely _soaked_ in blood, so that the color was much more red than white.

"Take off your shirt," Harry said, barely aware of what he was saying.

"No."

"Snape…"

"_No."_

Harry tried another tactic. "I need to see it. If he starts making it a common practice to, to inflict such wounds…"

"Rest assured that he cannot, Potter. He can only inflict such a wound on a person bearing the Dark Mark; otherwise it will not work. I have had the wound for the last 28 _years_. I am the only Death Eater who has ever borne it. And only because I am the only one who refused to fold under the pain he made me endure."

"He tortured you," Harry stated.

"Yes, he did," Snape confirmed.

There was a short pause. "I want to see it."

"Potter, are you deaf? I said _no._"

Harry blew out a frustrated breath. "Look, Snape, I know you got that wound before I was made the head of the Order," He said earnestly. There had been a brief period of time after Dumbeldore's death when Minerva McGonagall had taken over his duties, but she had died of heart failure from the Stunners she had been hit with a few months after Dumbledore's passing. "But I _am_ the head of the Order now, and like it or not, I'm responsible for you. I need to know why you've persisted in defying Voldemort for so long; when it could have jeopardized your place in his circle. I _need_ to see what he's done to you. I'm begging you. For the sake of the Order, if for nothing else."

Snape stared at him for a long moment, his face unreadable. Wordlessly, he reached around himself and slowly pulled off his shirt. His blood-soaked bandage was also pulled away in the motion, leaving them with a, sudden, clear view of what he had been hiding. Harry felt bile rise in his throat as he looked at it, and he heard Chris release a strangled sound from behind him. It was the Dark Mark, emblazoned in fiery read on Snape's chest and stomach. Harry leaned closer and realized that it was a brand upon which the Dark Mark had been carved with what could have been a scalpel if it hadn't been done magically. Worst of all, the wound looked completely fresh, and was bleeding in steady, copious amounts.

There was a moment of horrified silence, and then Snape snatched up his robes again. There were two spots of color on his cheeks- evidencing his extreme discomfiture under their combined scrutiny. "You've seen it now," He snapped at Harry, as he hastily donned his robes and hid the Mark from sight. "Are you satisfied?"

Harry noted that he hadn't even flinched when the cloth chafed against his chest, and for the first time it really hit him that Snape had lived with this for twenty-eight _years._ "What did you do to make Voldemort punish you severely?" He asked.

Snape stared hard at Harry for a long moment, and then suddenly all the fight seem to go out of him. "What difference can it possibly make, Potter?" he said, his tone uncharacteristically weary. He sank into his chair with considerably less grace than Harry was usually accustomed to seeing. "But you won't accept such evasion, will you? No, of course not; because you've deluded yourself into thinking you're _responsible_ for me. Of all the notions to get into your head…! Foolish, brazen Gryffindor brat." Harry smiled slightly to see that even at his most defeated and exhausted, Snape was still able to insult him. "If you recall," Snape continued, "_I_ was not the one who the Dark Lord had ordered to kill Albus."

"Malfoy," Harry stated, and Snape nodded.

"Yes, Malfoy. Dumbledore had already arranged for a place for me to flee to after I accomplished my task, where I could stay undetected by the Ministry of Magic. And that place was none other than San Francisco…in a house that just _happened_ to be right opposite the famous Haliwell manor. Albus and his games, honestly. He must have done it just in case I needed some extra help, but he could at least have _told_ me I was living opposite to the Charmed Ones!"

Both Harry and Chris were gaping at him in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me," He asked incredulously, "That you were our _neighbor?_"

"Only for a few weeks, until the Order found out about my allegiance. Then I came to live in Grimauld Place, instead," Snape replied. "Albus told me to go to my house in San Francisco as soon as I had reported his death to the Dark Lord, but I did not. I had made a promise to Narcissa to protect her son, and I knew that he would not be allowed to live after his failure. The Dark Lord had always known, just as I, and Albus had known, that Draco would be incapable of actually killing someone in cold blood. The Dark Lord was counting on his failure, so that he could kill him and so have revenge on Lucius for failing to retrieve that infernal prophecy. I could not allow my godson to be sacrificed in that manner-"

"Godson?" Harry interrupted, "You're _Malfoy's_ _godfather?_"

"Yes, Potter, I believe I just stated that," Snape replied in his most scathing tones. "Do not interrupt me again. As I was saying, I could not allow Draco to be used in that way, and I had already promised Narcissa that I would protect him. So instead of going to report to the Dark Lord, I took Draco and Apparated to the house Albus had arranged. I ignored the Dark Lord's summons during that time; I did not want to go to him until I had found away to protect Draco. During my stay, I grew very suspicious of the Haliwells. I could sense an aura of very powerful magic whenever I went near it, and the strangest things kept happening there- explosions shook the house at all hours of the day; there were fires and other calamities every few days, and oddest of all, the attic appeared to be much more in use than the rest of the house. I researched the Haliwells to find out if they were a threat- and found out who and what they were.

"I realized I had found a foolproof way of keeping Draco safe- to give him to them. They were famed for always putting the defense and protection of innocents above everything else. If they felt he was their responsibility, then they would do their utmost to protect them. The longer I stayed away from the Dark Lord, the worse the consequences would be, and I had no other way to ensure Draco's safety. So I waited for the familiar crashes and bangs that signaled a demonic attack, Stunned Draco and Apparated us both into the house. I waited for them to vanquish all the demons and then I modified their memories-"

"You did _what _to their memories?" Chris interrupted with a mixture of outrage and disbelief. Had Snape actually managed to do what no other demon had managed; and bested the Charmed Ones? Had he actually _erased_ their memories, when the Cleaners themselves had been unable to do that?

"I modified them," Snape confirmed, without a hint of apology. "An Obliviate is the most difficult spell to detect because once a person's memory is changed; they don't know that it _has _been changed. They whole-heartedly believe that the changed memory is the real one. Even the Charmed Ones could not fight what they didn't even know they had cause to fight. So I cast three Obliviates, and I told them that the demons had been after me, that I had come to them for protection; but that they had failed to save me. I said that they could still protect my godson, my only living family; and I asked them to find a safe place for him to live. I knew they would do it; if only out of guilt for failing to save me.

"While they were recovering, I revived Draco and cast an Obliviate on him, as well. I told him that I had accidentally angered some demons from the Underworld and had gone to the Charmed Ones seeking protection. The demons had attacked while we were there, and he had been knocked unconscious by one of them before he could see what happened to me. After which I Stunned him again, and Apparated to my Lord's side. Of course, he was livid with me. The other Death Eaters had seen me Apparate away with Draco, so they knew that I was protecting him. When I refused to tell him where he was, he did this to me," He gestured at his torso. "He couldn't kill me; my skills at Potions were too valuable, and I had just killed Albus Dumbledore, something even he had failed to do. I had proved my loyalty to him absolutely.

"But he still punished me for defying him, by branding me with the Mark and casting a Dark spell on the wound so that it would not heal until I revealed Draco's location to him. When I did not, he cast another spell, one which made even cuts and bruises very slow to heal. When I still refused to break, there was nothing he could do. But even now, he hates me for being successful in defying him. He takes a particular delight in torturing me, too." He shrugged slightly, the gesture making it clear that he thought this a very small price to pay for his godson's safety.

An amazed silence followed his words. Chris's mind was reeling with the implications of what had just been revealed. His mother and his aunts had had a chunk of their memory _missing _from their minds from even before he was born, and they had never discovered it. He could barely believe it.

Harry asked softly, "So you aren't actually in his inner circle, are you? You gave that up to protect Malfoy. All this time, you were lying when you said the reason you couldn't find out anything about his Horcruxes was because he never trusted anyone but himself with important information. It was really because he doesn't trust _you_ with important information."

Snape met his eyes unflinchingly. "Yes. I doubt that even his most trusted Death Eaters know anything about Horcruxes. He would hardly want the secret to his immortality to become common knowledge. But it is true that I jeopardized my position in his circle by my actions."

Harry searched his face, trying to gauge the emotions hidden by that impenetrable mask. Then he sighed. "I can't blame you," He said, "Your information has saved our lives time and time again, even if you aren't in Voldemort's inner circle. And I think it's…_amazing_… that you willingly endured so much to protect your godson. I could never punish you for that." He knew he'd do the same for Lily, any day. For once, they were on the same wavelength.

The moment didn't last long, however because Snape's sarcasm refused to be contained. "Praise from a Potter?" He drawled, "The world really _must _be ending."

Before Harry could think up an appropriate retort for this, Chris suddenly spoke. "One thing doesn't' make sense about this story," He said, "I've never heard of this Draco Malfoy person. My family always took a failure to save innocents very hard. They would have at least mentioned him; if they found him a home, they would have made sure to check on him at least once a year to see how he was doing. But they never even mentioned him…"

Snape looked perplexed for a moment, and then his face cleared. "I gave him an alias. Dorian Miller. He must have taken my advice for once and used it-"

"Wait a second; did you just say _Dorian Miller?_" Chris interrupted him, leaping to his feet.

"Yes, but what-?"

Chris orbed out of the room before he could finish the sentence. But barely before Harry and Snape had had a chance to even exchange a startled look, he had orbed back again, this time with a brown-haired man who had a pile of library books in his hands and a confused frown on his face. It was clear that Chris had just grabbed him by the elbow and orbed him to Grimauld Place without any explanations. "Chris, what-?" He stopped short when his eyes fell on Snape. The books fell from his hands and he whitened.

"Severus," The man whispered, "It can't be…you're dead…They said"

Snape looked at him in shock. No, it couldn't be…

Chris waved his hand and the glamour the man had been wearing disappeared, dispelling all doubts about the man's identity. Harry inhaled sharply as he took in the familiar blonde hair and the chiseled, aristocratic face. There was no mistaking those features.

Draco Malfoy.

…

TBC…

Okay, so I know I said I wouldn't be updating this until I got back from England, but the same night I posted Chapter 8, I was struck by this huge _bolt _of inspiration. This chapter was originally supposed to be about Harry convincing Snape to let Chris be his whitelighter. But then the whole Snape-Charmed Ones-Malfoy twist popped into my head out of nowhere, and since it didn't really mess with my plan for where this story's going, I decided to use it. Only, the plot bunny kept torturing me, and I had to abandon the chapter of my LOTR fic which I should have been working on, and write it before I went completely crazy. This chapter's contents were completely unexpected – both for you and for me! Unless you guys have the power of premonitions and foresaw that I would be struck by inspiration-lightning.

Anyway, please review, and tell me in particular what you thought about the way I wrote Snape, and his interactions with Harry. Snape is my favorite character in HP, and I would hate myself if I made him OOC. It was just really difficult at times, because Harry was actually in a position of authority over Snape. I haven't come across a situation like that in any other fic that I've read, so I was sort of flying blind.

I hope you all liked it, anyway. (By the way, do you guys think, based on what you've read so far, that I should up the rating of this story to M? I'm not too sure about that.) I won't be updating again probably till June now, because when I get back I'll have to work on my LOTR story. Cheers, and enjoy your summer!


	10. All In A Day's Work

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 10: All In A Day's Work

…

For a long moment, none of them could do anything but stare at each other. Malfoy was the first to recover his speech. "Severus," He asked, in a cracked voice, "Is it…is it really you?"

"Yes," Snape replied after a beat. "Yes, it is."

Malfoy shook his head. He was still pale with shock. "But…I don't understand. They said you died." He turned to Chris, his expression lost. "They didn't…they didn't _lie,_ did they? They couldn't have."

"No," Snape answered, "They did not lie to you. The Charmed Ones _truly_ believed me to be dead, because I modified their memories. And yours. I let them think I was their innocent and that they had failed to save me; and that my dying wish was for them to keep you safe. I knew they would protect you better than I ever could."

"But…why?" Malfoy asked, "Why couldn't you have stayed? You were on the run too; you'd just killed the Dumbledore _and_ defied the Dark Lord by protecting me; you needed sanctuary as much as I did. _More_ than I did."

"I couldn't stay with you because I _had_ to return to the Dark Lord."

"But…why?"

Snape sighed. "I didn't kill Dumbledore to spare you. I killed him on his own orders, so that I could gain a place in the Dark Lord's inner circle." Malfoy was gaping at him in shock. "That's right, Draco; make the logical conclusion."

"You're…a spy?"

"Since 1980. Yes."

"You returned to him even after defying his wishes?" Malfoy asked, horrified. "But…he couldn't have let you off so easily." He paled. "What did he do to you?"

"Draco…"

"No. I want to know the price you had to pay for protecting me!"

Snape was silent, clearly reluctant to burden his godson with the knowledge of what he had had to endure for his sake. "It is irrelevant. I paid it, and then I moved on. That is all there is to it."

Malfoy started to it protest, but Chris beat him to it. "No," He said, his voice hard. "Tell him the truth, or I will."

Snape turned on him furiously, "This is not your concern, Haliwell."

But Chris shook his head. Things which he had not understood in all the time he had known Dorian Miller were finally starting to make sense now. Not least of which was why he had been so shocked when Chris had orbed him into Hogwarts a few days ago. Now that he knew the truth, he was determined to do what he had failed to do ever since he had become the man's whitelighter four years ago. He was finally going to _help him._ "No. I won't," He said. "You tell him the price you paid to protect him- and then I will tell you how _much_ he has done to deserve everything you've endured."

"Chris…" Malfoy began.

"_No_, Ian," Chris said with surprising force, "I have _had_ it with your guilt. The way it eats away at you even after all the good you've done. It's been hanging over your head from well before I became your whitelighter, ever since you were sixteen years old. All my life, I've seen it eat away at you, and then for the last four years, I've _felt_ it eat away at you, but since I didn't know _why_ you were so guilty, _why_ you needed to wear a glamour all the time; I didn't have any way of helping you. And now I know," He added in a quieter, but no less intense tone, "And I can feel how much you respect him. I'm going to tell him how you've fought for the good side for so many years. How many innocents you've saved. What a formidable opponent you make on a battlefield. So that he'll know that every day he endured that wound on his stomach that won't heal, was worth it. And so that he can tell you that you've redeemed yourself, and have nothing to be sorry for anymore."

There was a stunned silence at the end of this passion-filled speech, filled only by Chris's uneven breathing. Harry stared; amazed that Lucius Malfoy's son could have earned such a high respect in the young man's eyes. Malfoy himself was amazed and touched when he perceived how _long_ his whitelighter had wanted to say these words to him, but had been unable to. He'd had no idea that Chris cared so much, and was relieved beyond measure he had forgiven him his past sins. Then, as he registered what Chris had said about Snape, he turned to his godfather.

"A wound that won't heal?" He asked. Snape didn't reply, but the look in his eyes and the growing bloodstain on the front of his robes said everything. "That's why you look so- so awful," Malfoy continued, speaking almost to himself. "I didn't make a note of it because I'm so used to seeing people sleep-deprived and injured and half-starved." His eyes filled remorse. "I'm so sorry, Severus."

"I'm _not,_" Snape said. He looked at Chris, and then at Malfoy. Harry had to look away, discomfited by the naked emotions flashing through Snape's eyes, pride chief among them. He had never seen Snape display any emotion excepting anger and loathing.

After a few moments, Malfoy turned his eyes to his one-time arch nemesis, unable to hold Snape's gaze. "Hello, Potter," He greeted evenly, without a trace of the sneer he had once been so renowned for.

Harry responded in kind, taking care to keep hostility out of his voice. "Hello, Malfoy."

The two men stared at each other for a long beat, gauging each other. It was Harry who spoke first. "You do realize that the Order won't be happy when they find out about this," He said evenly. "Even though you didn't succeed in killing Dumbledore, you did get the Death Eaters into the castle. Not to mention you nearly killed Ron and Katie."

Malfoy grimaced, but did not try to plead his case. Harry was silent for a long moment, thinking. He knew Malfoy's fate would be sealed by his decision. "If you've really have spent the last few decades fighting evil, then I can't let the Order to persecute you," He concluded at last. "Especially for something you did when you were _sixteen years old._" All the same, he couldn't help but grimace as he thought of the uproar that would follow his decision to support a Malfoy.

Reading his emotions correctly, Chris frowned. "But won't others feel the same way?" He asked. "That it really _was_ a long time ago and that he deserves to be forgiven? Don't they know that people change?"

"Oh they do," Harry answered wearily, "They just won't believe that _Lucius Malfoy's_ _son _changed." _I'm having a hard time believing it, myself._ "Things are very volatile now," He continued. "Voldemort's ruling the world, and our side is barely posing a threat to him. We're fighting a losing battle, and everyone's just _looking_ for someone to blame. If we're not very careful, they'll pick him."

"But you'll still support him, right?" Chris asked anxiously.

"Yes, I'll still support him, Chris," Harry said, smiling slightly. "There's no need to look so surprised," He told Malfoy. "I know we were never the best of friends-"

"I should say _not,_" Snape muttered.

"-but I'm still not going to force you to answer for a mistake you made in Sixth Year. Especially with all the good you've done since."

"Thank you, scar head." Malfoy drawled. "You know I always valued your opinion."

A ghost of a very familiar smirk touched Malfoy's lips, but it was not nearly as ugly an expression as Harry remembered it, because it was spoilt by the laughter shining in his eyes. "Shut up, ferret face," He said grinning widely, because he couldn't remember the last time anyone had called him anything as irreverent as 'scar head.'

"Ferret face? Scar head?" Chris asked, raising his eyebrows. "Have you guys been deaged or something?"

Snape snorted quietly, and Harry laughed. "What can I say? He has that effect on me."

There was a short, amused pause, and then Harry's expression changed to puzzlement. "There's something I don't understand," He said, changing the subject, "You said Malfoy has been fighting evil for years, but from what I gathered, our type of wizards and witches wouldn't stand a _chance_ against a demon. So how could Malfoy possibly fight them?"

"That's because I have Wiccan blood," Malfoy explained, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry gaped at him. "You _what?"_

"Hundreds of years ago, Wiccan magic was widely practiced in Europe," Malfoy explained. "But because we were so powerful, the lower-level witches began to feel threatened by us and started to hunt us down. Since we were grossly outnumbered, we had to choose one of two options; either to flee Europe, or to bind our powers and blend in with the lower level witches. The Malfoys chose the latter. So did a lot of families. Although their Wiccan heritage was all but forgotten after a few generations, they didn't lose their sense of superiority over the lower-level witches. They were also more powerful than the average witch and wizard because even though their powers were bound, they still had more magic in their blood. That was what actually created the distinction of being a pureblood. Most of the really _old_ pureblood families, like the Blacks, the Malfoys, the Zabinis, and the Bulstrodes all have Wiccan blood. The Charmed Ones were able to sense my Wiccan heritage, so they sent me to Magic School so the teachers there could help me unlock my magic. That's how I was able to fight demons."

Snape nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It would explain why so many of the old pureblood families are Dark," He said, "They were forced to bind part of who they were. It must have made them feel angry and bitter, which in turn corrupted their unbound magic and made them Dark. I suppose when the uncorrupted part of my magic was released it was far easier to fight for the Light side."

"Yes, that's true."

"I always _wondered_ why there were upper and lower level demons but only one, standard type of witch," Chris remarked, musingly. "This certainly explains that. It also explains why our type of witch can be found anywhere but in Europe." He looked at Malfoy, his gaze measuring. "Where on earth did you find out all this stuff, Ian?" He paused. "I mean, Draco?"

"You can call me Ian; I've been Dorian Miller for a lot longer than I've been Draco Malfoy," Malfoy said. "It was in some of the really obscure texts in Magic School. I wanted to know how _I _could possibly have Wiccan blood, so I researched it when they sent me there. It was quite a revelation."

"I'm sure."

There was another lull in the conversation, and then Malfoy said, "Chris? I want to go back under the glamour now. If you don't mind…"

"Wait a moment, what?" Harry asked, "Why do you want to go back under the glamour? You don't have any more reason to hide your true appearance."

"I've been wearing a glamour since I was _sixteen_,Potter. I'm much more comfortable with it than my actual appearance. Besides," he added, "My wife would probably pass out with shock if I turned up all of a sudden with blonde hair and blue eyes.."

"You have a _wife?!_" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes, Potter, I have a wife," Malfoy replied, pretending to be offended, "And a son. I _am_ forty-six, you know. It would have been stranger if I _wasn't_ married."

"I'm sorry, it's just- you have a wife!"

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Potter-"

"People!" Chris interrupted the bickering. "Can we _please_ get back on track here? Thank you. Now, I have to think of a spell, so please be quiet."

For a few minutes there was silence as Chris concentrated. Then he began to chant,

_"I call upon the Haliwell line,_

_To give this man back his disguise,_

_To hide his appearance thoroughly,_

_From all but the godfather he calls family."_

Malfoy instantly changed back to what he had looked like before Chris had taken off the glamour, and Harry had to blink. A Malfoy with brown hair and grey eyes was just…wrong.

Snape, in the meantime, was confused. "He looks the same to me," He said.

"I know," He said, "I figured _you_, at least, would prefer to see him as what he really looks like. Since that's what you probably remember him as."

"I never would have thought of that," Malfoy said. "Thank you, Chris!"

"Don't mention it. Now I know you and your godfather probably want to catch up and all, but can I have a word with you first? It'll only take a moment."

"Of course. Actually, I wanted to ask _you_ something as well."

They both moved to the far end of the room and then Chris said in an undertone, "Listen, Ian, I would really appreciate it if you could convince your godfather to become my charge."

Malfoy grimaced. "Is that really necessary?" He asked.

"If he wants to be able to enter and leave Hogwarts of his own will, then yes, it's necessary. I could get Adrian to just go ahead and do it without telling him, but something tells me he won't react well to that."

"No, he won't," Malfoy agreed with feeling. "Alright, I'll talk to him."

"Thanks, Ian. I hate to put this on your head when you've only just got him back from the dead, but I really don't have a choice. So, what was it that you wanted to ask me?"

"Oh, yeah. I wanted to ask you if Severus's wounds could be healed by a whitelighter? I know there's Dark Magic on them preventing them from healing, but I doubt that lower-level Dark wizards are powerful enough to come up with anything that trumps whitelighter magic."

"That's a great idea! I can't believe I didn't think of that. Michael!"

The whitelighter appeared almost instantly. "You called?"

Chris noted that Michael didn't look very good. His eyes were red-rimmed and dull. Michael had lost all of his charges when the Charmed Ones died. "Yeah," He said softly, "I need you to heal someone for me." He walked to the dining table. "Professor Snape? This is Michael. He's a whitelighter. I think he can heal your wounds."

"I doubt it," Snape replied, scowling. "The magic used by the Dark Lord is far too effective. I myself have tried to heal the wound countless times, even going to the point of creating new Potions, but I failed each time. It can't be done."

"But you've never even _tried_ whitelighter magic," Chris pointed. "It could work. At least let him try; what's the harm in that? Michael, heal his neck."

Michael stepped forward, and placed his hands over Snape's neck. "It's working," He confirmed a moment later, causing Chris to heave a sigh of relief. If a wound that had been cursed to heal very slowly could heal this fast, then it was very likely that Michael would be able to heal Snape's stomach, too. Less than half a minute later, Snape was touching his unblemished neck with an expression of thinly veiled wonder.

"That's amazing!" Harry exclaimed.

"I suppose," Chris said, a little dubiously. Having grown up with Leo as his father and Wyatt as his brother, the novelty value of whitelighter healing had worn off very quickly. "I wish whitelighter magic worked on mortal illnesses, though. If it did, then we wouldn't have had so many people dying of cholera and typhoid and stuff. Now can we try the stomach wound?" He asked, addressing both Michael and Snape.

Snape hesitated. Chris recognized his dilemma instantly. Snape didn't want his godson to see his wound. Meeting Snape's eyes in a brief moment of understanding, Chris turned to Malfoy. "Hey, while he heals, I think we need to discuss how we're going to explain your past to everyone. Does your wife know?"

"Yes, but no one else…"

Chris gently and skillfully steered Malfoy away from his godfather, making sure to stand so that Malfoy couldn't see Snape. By the time the conversation was over, Snape's torso was fully healed, and he was looking down at himself with an expression of awe and amazement. For a long moment, he couldn't speak, barely able to believe that the wound that had plagued him for 28 years was finally gone.

"Thank you," He said softly, in the most heartfelt tone any of them had ever heard from him.

Michael nodded, "You're welcome."

There was a slight pause, and then Chris said, "Well I think we'll leave you two to catch up now. Michael, Mr. Potter, do you mind? I need to speak with you."

The three walked outside, leaving Snape and Malfoy so deep in conversation that they were barely aware of their departure. When they had reached the kitchen, Chris began, "Mr. Potter, I think it's a good idea for you and your family to have a personal whitelighter."

"You mean someone other than you?"

"Yeah. If we're ever in the middle of a battle, I may not be able to help you if you call my name. I mean, in most battles, most of the soldier's are going to be my charges, so I'm equally responsible for everyone. And there's a chance that two or more of you get cornered at the same time, in which case I'd have to chose between you." He shuddered slightly as he remembered all the times he had been forced to do that in spite of his taking extra precautions. "That's why a lot of the more powerful Resistance members have another whitelighter apart from me," He continued. "Would you be agreeable to that?"

Harry shrugged, not really caring either way. "Alright. If you think it's necessary."

Chris turned to the man beside him. "Michael?" His tone was gentle, cautious. "Would you be okay with being their whitelighter? I know you're used to having high-profile charges. But if it's too soon…"

"No, it's not," Michael interrupted. He was struck by how ridiculous it was that Chris was being considerate of _his_ feelings. After all, the Charmed Ones had only been his charges. Not his _family._ And if Chris could put their loss aside and focus on his duties, then so could he, he decided firmly. He felt a fire that had been missing for a long time course through his veins again. Chris had infused him with a new determination. "I can do this," He said. "I need it."

Seeing the spark rekindle in Michael's eyes, Chris could not help feeling a stab of triumph at how he had successfully pushed all the buttons needed to pull Michael away from a spiraling depression. It was at times like these that he was grateful for his partial inheritance of Phoebe's powers.

"Good," He said to Michael, "Then go to Adrian and ask him to assign you Mr. Potter and his wife and daughter, and the Weasleys and their children, and Snape, of course; his job's only second to Mr. Potter's. Oh, and Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody, too. They're pretty important members of the Order as well, as far as I can see. Anyone else?" He asked Harry, who shook his head, amazed that Chris had managed to grasp the workings of the Order in so little time. "Yeah, that's it," Chris continued, "You'll go do that now? Great. Thanks."

Michael orbed out, leaving Harry and Chris alone in the room. "You look pleased with yourself," Harry commented.

"Well, it's been a far better morning than usual," Chris replied. "After years of knowing him, I was finally able to help Ian. And Michael. Not to mention we healed Snape's wounds and reunited him with his godson."

"You care about _everything,_ don't you?" Harry asked, amazed. Managing to comfort one or two individuals from amongst the vast multitudes of people who depended on Harry would not have made him feel half as pleased as Chris did.

"I have to," Chris replied, "It's my job…no, that's not exactly true. It's more the fact that I can feel people's emotions. Turning sadness to joy, despair to determination…it's a wonderful feeling. It makes the constant headaches and the migraines worth it in the end."

"So all this, it's all in a day's work for you, is it?" Harry asked, amazed by this insight into Chris's duties.

"Yeah, pretty much," Chris replied, "All in a day's work."

…

TBC...

Hope you all enjoyed that. I know I've made Malfoy much nicer than he is in canon, but I thought about it realistically, and thought it was very probable that he would change over three decades. I mean, he would have had to pretend to be a Muggle for years if he was under the Charmed Ones' protection, and that would have made him lose some of his contempt for Muggleborn witches and also Muggles. He's had to give up the name of Malfoy, too, as well as his appearance. And he would have learned some morals from the Charmed Ones and Magic School that would probably made him ashamed and guilty about his past deeds. That's why I portrayed him thus in this story- and I hope it wasn't _too_ OOC.

On another note, I have to apologize for taking so long to update. After my trip to England, I had to update my LOTR story, which I've been neglecting. But I have a treat for all you Chris lovers, to make up for. My very first story based solely in the Charmed fandom- a Chris revelation fic! I bought Charmed, Season 6 from London and have watched all my favorite episodes a million times already. That's actually what inspired me.

So for everyone who likes Chris revelation stories, please check out mine. It's a oneshot titled "As a Family." Hope you all enjoy it. Now, I gotta go wake my brother up. If I don't update for awhile, it's because I'm very busy with my college applications. Wish me luck on that front. See you all, until we meet again!


	11. Broken Dreams

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 11: Broken Dreams

WARNING: This chapter contains a reference to non-consensual sexual activity, or rape. Nothing graphic, of course, but if you don't like this kind of thing, I suggest you stay away.

…

It was not long after Harry, Chris and the others had left them alone when Malfoy asked the question Snape had been dreading all evening. "Severus, what about my parents? Are they…?"

Snape sighed. "They're dead, Draco," He said bluntly, not trying to sugarcoat it. "He killed them when… _after_ we ran away from Hogwarts." _Because you failed to kill Dumbledore,_ was left unsaid, but not unheard. "I'm sorry."

Malfoy's blue-grey eyes were unreadable, and for a long moment, he didn't speak. **_I'm_**_ not sorry_, he realized, surprised and a little shocked. But then, he had hated his past ever since he had embraced his Wiccan side and chosen the path of good. He had hated them for the kind of person they would have made him if he hadn't broken free when he did. They had been dead to him for decades; so maybe it wasn't that surprising that finding out that they were actually dead gave him only a muted sense of relief. "What do you think of Chris?" He asked, aware that the silence had stretched too long. Besides, he _wanted _to know what Snape thought of the Resistance leader. Perhaps if his godfather hadn't got a terrible first impression, he wouldn't be as closed to the idea of being his charge. _On the other hand, I could just be deluding myself._

Snape blinked, surprised at the abrupt change of subject, but recovered quickly. He considered the question for a moment. "He's very perceptive," He said at last, remembering the way Chris had known, just from meeting his eyes for an instant, that he didn't want his godson to see his stomach wound, and had steered him away skillfully while Michael healed him. That level of insight was surprising in someone so young

Malfoy nodded in agreement. "He's very good at reading people," He said, "Well, he could hardly not be, all things considered."

"What do you mean?" Snape asked.

"You know that he's part-whitelighter? As the Resistance leader, he holds himself responsible for all of us- so he made Adrian, an Elder, assign all of us to him as charges. The entire strength of the Resistance- eight thousand strong. That was a year ago. And a few days ago, he made Adrian also assign him everyone in Hogwarts, too. That's another twelve thousand."

"He now has _twenty thousand_ charges?" Snape asked, completely amazed. He knew from his research on whitelighters that it normally didn't cross _twenty._ "But…wouldn't the Tribunal, I think it was called, object to that, even if the Elders didn't?

"They probably would," Malfoy affirmed, "But they were vanquished more than two years ago, so it didn't really matter what they, or the other Elders thought at that time."

"The Tribunal was _vanquished? _But who could possibly be powerful enough to…?_" _

"The one who the Resistance was founded to, well, resist. Chris's older brother, Wyatt, the Twice Blessed who turned from the path of good."

Snape stared at Malfoy, stunned. "You cannot seriously mean," He said in disbelief, "That the son of a Charmed One is now a leader of _evil?_" He had thought that his godson would be safe in the hands of the Charmed Ones. But if they couldn't even protect their _own_ from evil…

"Worse," Malfoy said sadly. "He's the leader of _all_ evil. The Source, if you will. We don't know what turned him; it got to him even before Chris was born- and we've never been able to figure out who or what it was. The point is, after Piper was killed, Wyatt's grief and rage brought the dormant evil to the surface, so that he turned from the part of good."

"Piper Haliwell was killed?" Snape hadn't known that.

"Six years ago." His face darkened. "All the Charmed Ones are dead now, though," He said quietly. "A few days ago, they went on a dangerous mission and Wyatt captured them. He wanted the location of a book, but it was in one of the Resistance safe-houses, so Chris wouldn't give it to him. So he tortured and killed them all right in front of him." His voice took on a tone of reverence. "And he didn't give in. I've seen firsthand what his brother is capable of…and he didn't give in."

There were very few people in Snape's acquaintance that he had actual respect for, but Chris had become one of them if this account was true. "You haven't explained why he's so good at reading people," He said, changing the subject.

Malfoy grimaced. "Chris inherited Phoebe's empathy power- but in combination with his whitelighter power. That means that every time he takes on a charge, he's able to feel their emotions- even dream their dreams sometimes and if they're remembering something very powerful, access their memories. That wouldn't be such a problem with ten or fifteen charges- but with the amount he has…he's always getting migraines because he's got too many people in his head. The ability to read the emotions of so many different types of people has made him very perceptive even to people who aren't his charges."

Snape sat back, profoundly disturbed by the fact that Chris Haliwell had access to his godson's emotions- what Snape had always considered a person's greatest weakness. "But isn't there a way to prevent such a connection? With a spell, perhaps?"

"No. We tried everything- spells, empath-blocking Potions, even the Power of Three before Piper died. Nothing worked. Nothing can sever the bond Chris has with his charges- he can sense them even when they're in a location cloaked by Wyatt. In spite of his magical heritage, in spite of his upbringing, he somehow wound up more whitelighter than witch. For him, it's always about saving people; protecting innocents. He fights evil because it's the only way to keep innocents safe. I've known his entire family for a long time, but I don't know anyone else who would not have broken down under what Wyatt put him through. For the other Haliwells, family always came before everything else, even before their duty towards innocents, even though it wasn't supposed to. But for Chris, _we_ came before his family. We always have. That's why _he_ was designated leader, even though his aunts had been fighting evil for much longer, and would have been the more logical choice. All the innocents he's saved over the years banded together and voted him leader almost unanimously. Everyone loves him so much that they'd follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked them to."

"But Draco, how could you have trusted him with your _emotions?_" Snape asked. He still couldn't wrap his mind around _that._ "You were on the run, a fugitive. He knew that, he must have known_ that_ the moment he realized you were wearing a glamour. He could have very easily pried into your past with the power he had over you. He could even have done it inadvertently. How could you be willing to take a risk like that? I thought I taught you better that."

"I knew him," Malfoy insisted, "I watched him grow up. Do you know, he never told _anyone _that he could see my true appearance? I only found out about it when he was in his late teens and one of his aunts mentioned that seeing through illusions was one of his powers. And later, when he became my whitelighter, he never pried into my past. He never pried into anybody's past. In fact, he would know who was uncomfortable with his power and he'd act like he didn't have it with them. And for others, those who needed a kind word or a shoulder to cry on, he'd give them that. He uses his powers to give people what they need most. How can I _not_ trust a man like that?"

Snape was watching Malfoy through narrow eyes. He knew that Malfoy meant every word he said, but… "Why are you working so hard to sell him to me?"

Malfoy blushed. "You know me far too well," He muttered, "Even after all these years."

Snape wasn't diverted by this comment. "I'm waiting."

Malfoy sighed. "Adrian has to assign him to you as your whitelighter."

Snape's jaw clenched. "Never."

"Severus, don't be stupid. It needs to be done for your protection."

Snape's eyes were hard and unyielding. "I do not need protection."

"Yes you do, even if you won't admit it. And even if you didn't, you _do_ need to be able to get in and out of Hogwarts. He's magically cloaked the place to make sure that only his charges can do that. It's to prevent demons from shimmering in here at any time they want," He added quickly before Snape could protest. "You won't have a choice. Potter will order you to do it, even if it's against your will."

Snape's mouth was drawn into an angry scowl. "I will _not_ allow a perfect stranger to access my emotions as and when he pleases!" He exclaimed in heated tones.

"You won't have a choice!" Malfoy exclaimed in exasperation, "And anyway, I think you're deluding yourself if you think Chris wants to pry into your private life. As it is, he's plagued by headaches night and day because he has so many people's emotions in his head. Why do you think he'd want to pry into yours? He'd only cause himself more discomfort."

"Be that as it may, I won't place myself at _anyone's_ mercy," Snape said adamantly, "I haven't stayed alive all these years by blindly trusting just anyone who crossed my path. I won't give _anyone_ that kind of power over me."

"What if you were able to access _his_ emotions?" Malfoy asked, "Would it make you more willing to submit to this if you could use Occulemency on him?"

"I hardly think he'd allow me to poke through his head just to secure myself against his exploiting my powers," Snape scoffed.

But Malfoy noted that he hadn't given an outright refusal, and was encouraged. "I wasn't suggesting that you just go poking through his head," He said in a placating tone, "I was suggesting that you _teach_ him Occulemency."

"And why would he want to learn? I'm sure that he has better things to do to occupy his time."

"He _needs_ to learn it. He could barely handle eight thousand charges, and now twenty thousand? The only way he's getting through each day is by drinking vial after vial of Pain Relieving Potion, which we both know is addictive in large quantities. Even with the painkillers, he has a constant, never-ceasing headache. I actually think he's had one for the whole of last year. He needs to be at his very best if he's going to go up against Wyatt, and a headache won't help that. If you can help him block out everyone's emotions, _even _if it's only on the battlefield for a short period of time…"

"It would be very helpful," Snape finished. Much as he hated it, he knew that if this concerned the school's security, then he would be overruled. At least this way, Chris would have complete power over him.

"What do you think? Will you agree to it?" Malfoy asked.

For appearance's sake, Snape pretended to deliberate for awhile. Giving in gracefully had never been a virtue for which he was renowned. "I am still very much averse to the idea of a stranger having access to my emotions," He said at last, "But if I am able to look at his memories, as I will be when I am teaching him, then he will not have so much power over me. Understand this, however. I am only agreeing to this because _you _are vouching for him so strongly."

"You can trust me, and you can trust him, because _I_ trust him," Malfoy nodded, not in the least phased. On the contrary, he was actually rather relieved. That had been easier than he had expected- though he suspected that if it had been anybody but himself, Snape would not have agreed half as easily. But then, his relationship with his godfather had always been like that. Snape acted more familiarly with him than anyone else, and he was also able to trust Malfoy's judgment now that they were both on the same side of the war. "Shall I call Chris to give him the good news?" He asked with a grin.

Snape just glared at him, and he laughed.

…

Chris shuffled wearily up and down the silent corridor Hope cradled in his arms as he tried to get her to sleep. Lately, she had spent so much time being watched by people other than him at night that he had almost forgotten what a light sleeper she was. It had been a long day, and this was the fourth time that night that she had woken him up with her cries. Not that he was complaining; even _this_ was worth spending some real time with her, but he couldn't help wishing that she would just _sleep_ and let him do the same. He stopped in his pacing when he heard footsteps approaching from around the corner.

"Jennifer?" What on earth was _she_ doing roaming the halls at this time of night? It was the first time since their argument that he had even seen her up close. "What are you doing up?" He asked.

"Couldn't sleep. I was headed for the kitchen for a cup of tea." She paused, and then asked very hesitantly, "Do you want to join me?"

"Yes, please," Chris said immediately, because he could easily see that her true meaning was _'do you want to talk?_ She was one of his oldest friends, and if there was a chance that she could forgive him for lying about Emma and Wyatt, then he was willing to fight for it. "I'll bring Hope; maybe she'll fall asleep during the walk. For some reason, the only way to get her to sleep is walking up and down with her on your shoulder,"

"Let me take her," Jennifer offered, "You look like you could use a break."

"Thanks," He said, handing her to him, "I really could."

An awkward silence fell between them and persisted throughout the long walk to the kitchen. Luckily, Hope fell asleep during the way. They were both grateful when they reached the portrait of the fruits, and Chris reached out to tickle the pear. The kitchen was unusually quiet at that time of night, since all the House Elves seemed to be asleep. Chris was grateful; the last thing he wanted was to have them chattering in their high, shrill voices to awaken Hope and chase away any chances of a private talk with Jennifer. There was a pot of tea boiling merrily on the stove, though; their arrival had been anticipated. Despite the fantastical creatures he had seen in his lifetime, Chris could never get his head around the magic of the House Elves. He poured out the tea for both of them while Jennifer gently wrapped Hope up in her jacket and placed her on the kitchen table. They both sat down.

"Listen, I'm really sorry about-"

"Chris, I know that I shouldn't have-"

They broke off together, smiling wryly at each other. "I'll go first," Jennifer said after a pause, and Chris nodded. She studied her shoes for a moment before beginning, "I know you've felt, even though I've tried to keep it from you, that I've always resented the fact that everyone considered Hope to be _your _daughter, and not Wyatt's." She sighed. "You know that I'm a mortal, Chris. You always protected us from the reality of things aboveground. I never realized how evil he truly was."

"I shouldn't have kept the truth from you," Chris said, though he couldn't see where this was going, "You've known him for as long as I have. _You_, at least, had the right to know."

"I don't blame you for trying to protect me." Jennifer smiled slightly. "After all, you wouldn't be _Chris_ if you didn't. And you had no idea that the truth would have hurt me less than the lie you told me."

Chris stiffened. That did sound very promising at all. "What do you mean?" When she didn't answer immediately, he said more sharply, "Jennifer?"

Jennifer flinched, and inhaled sharply. "A few before your mom died, Wyatt and I began dating."

Chris's jaw dropped. "_What?" _He gasped in shock, "But you didn't…_he_ didn't…I never…"

Jennifer voice shook as she said, "We never told anyone because we knew that Piper wouldn't approve. She thought Wyatt was too young to date at the time. She would have forbidden us from seeing each other. She was always so _protective_ of him. He was sixteen, but she treated him like he was twelve."

"I remember," Chris said softly, images of a different time flashing before his eyes.

"I know now that she was right," Jennifer continued, "Sixteen _is_ too young, and we were careless. One night, one thing led to another, and we didn't take the proper precautions, and a month later, I was pregnant."

If Chris had been surprised earlier, he was completely and utterly stunned now. For a few seconds, he could only gape at her. "What did you do?" he gasped out when he managed to regain his speech.

"We considered an abortion. I had saved enough pocket money to be able to do it without telling anyone about it. But I couldn't get rid of the baby, and Wyatt agreed with me. We were going to raise it together, get married as soon as we were of legal age. We were going to tell our families, but we were both so terrified of their reactions that we kept procrastinating, and...I miscarried before we got the chance. It happened a week after Piper died. I was four months along at the time." She swallowed hard. "You remember that Wyatt didn't disappear until a few days after Piper's death? It's my belief that losing the baby was what finally pushed him over the edge."

"Jenny, I am so sorry," Chris said, "I had no idea." _Wyatt must have been devastated; to lose his son or daughter like that so soon after mom died…_ "Did you and Wyatt…love each other?"

Jennifer froze at the unexpected question, and then nodded once. "Ever since we first met, even as kids, we were…_connected._ If he wasn't the way he is now, I would _still_ be as in love with him as I was then, even though it's been six years. I still love the man he should have been."

"And I told you that he had slept with Emma," Chris realized, closing his eyes in consternation, "I told you he _loved_ her. You must have thought… God, Jen, I'm so sorry."

"I know you are." She smiled through her tears; a sad, heartbroken smile, as she continued with her tale, "Every time I saw you and Emma together after that, I wished it was me and Wyatt. And then Emma gave birth to Hope, and she made me promise with her last breath to take care of her, because she knew that with everything you had to do, you wouldn't be able to do it on your own. It was the hardest promise I ever had to make. But then I started falling in love with Hope. I convinced myself that Wyatt hadn't really loved Emma, that he wouldn't have betrayed me if he had been himself. You kept telling everyone that you _would_ save Wyatt one day…I thought I could have him back, that one day we'd get married just like we'd planned and raise Hope together. I actually thought I could be a mom again…" She sighed heavily. "It was a just a dream. A stupid, fruitless dream."

Chris's insides burned with guilt as he realized what his well-intentioned lies had put his friend through. "I wasn't lying when I said we could still save him," He offered very softly, "I didn't give up on that dream, either, until a few days ago. Even after he raped Emma, I refused to give up hope for him. But when he killed our family, I couldn't ignore reality anymore. He's...he's past redemption now."

They were both silent, as they thought of the past, and the future before them, and the broken dreams and the shattered hopes of so many people, and the child who lay between them on the table, who like so many others, would grow up in a cold, cruel, world, devastated by war. It was a while before either of them realized how late it was. They both drained the last of their tea and said their goodnights. Chris's heart clenched as he watched Jennifer bend down and kissed Hope's forehead gently before making for the door.

"Jennifer, wait," He said in a rush, and she turned and looked at him questioningly. "I know how much Hope means to you. As long as it's in my power, I will never do anything to separate you from her. You've been more of a mother to her than Bianca was, even if we _were_ planning to get married. Bianca loved Hope, but she barely got to see her more than once or twice a week. _You've_ been here since day one, and we both know that you're more likely to survive this war than I am. If something should happen to me, I want you to raise her as your own. Promise me you'll take care of her if I die."

Jennifer stepped forward, and clasped Chris's hands in her own. There were tears in her eyes. "I promise," She said softly, her voice breaking on the words. "Thank you, Chris." She he hesitated a moment, and leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek, and then turned and walked away.

…

TBC…

Yes, yes, I know it's been ages since I last updated, and I'm sorry for it. I've been in Delhi doing my college applications. I got into St. Stephen's College- the one both my dad (an alumnus) and I wanted! It's the best for English Honors in India. I'm leaving for Delhi on Friday. Don't worry, though, I'm staying in a place that has internet access. I'm not giving up either of the stories that I'm in the thick of.

What did you think of this chapter? Did you like the Jennifer-Wyatt-Hope-Chris-Emma bit? What do you think of Jennifer's character, from whatever you've seen of her so far? Please review to tell me! I gotta go now, it's time for lunch. Ta!


	12. Before The Meeting

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 12: Before the Meeting

…

Exhaustedly, Harry shuffled his way back into his room. It had been a long, _long _day, what with the revelations about Snape, and Malfoy, and then having to prepare for the Order meeting the next day. He opened the door to his bedroom quietly, and took off his shoes so as not to awaken Ginny. But he soon discovered that he needn't have bothered.

There was a whispered spell and then the lights flickered on, to reveal Ginny sitting up in bed, apparently wide awake. "Hey."

"Hey," Harry returned, "I thought you'd be asleep. You didn't stay up for me, did you?"

"Actually, I did," Ginny replied, "I wanted to talk to you."

After nearly two decades of being married to her, he recognized by that tone that it was serious. "What about?" He asked carefully.

"I haven't seen you around of late," Ginny stated.

"I've been busy; what with the Resistance, and Chris, and then there's the Order meeting tomorrow…"

"That's not what I meant," She interrupted him. "You've been avoiding me."

"No, I haven't," Harry protested, even though he _had._

"Yes, you have," Ginny said simply, and Harry deflated, knowing that there was no point in lying to her; that there was _never_ any point in lying to her. "And I want to know why," She continued. "What's bothering you, Harry? What's wrong?"

"It's Chris," Harry sighed, sitting down opposite her. "He opened up…issues…which I thought I was over years ago."

"I thought you were really getting along with him," Ginny said, surprised.

"I am," Harry hastened to assure her, "It's not that. It's not _him._"

"Then what is it?"

"It's…" He hesitated, and then said in a rush, "It's what happened to his family."

Ginny leaned back. "Oh, Harry…" She said with a sigh, because she, too, thought they'd buried these issues years and years ago. "Not this again."

"Yes, this again. It will always be an issue, Ginny, and you know it. I don't think you truly understand what it's like to be like me, or Chris. To be always targeted by a Dark Lord, to have your _loved ones_ targeted…" He released a shaky breath. "Bianca could have been you, Ginny. Chris's family could have been _my_ family. Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Molly, _Lily._ That's my worst fear- that Voldemort will use you to get to me, or that you'll die in this war at the hands of the Death Eaters. Sometimes, I think I should have stuck to what I said in Sixth Year, when Ron, Hermione and I first decided to find and destroy the Horcruxes." He sighed softly and whispered almost inaudibly, "I should never have let you talk me into marrying you."

Ginny was silent for a moment, her brown eyes unreadable. "Haven't you been happy with me these past 18 years?" She asked at last.

He detected a faint hint of vulnerability and hurt in her voice, and felt terrible. "Ginny. Of course I have," He said. "That's not what I meant. You know that."

"And what about Lily?" Ginny went on, "If we weren't married, she wouldn't exist. Can you really think I would trade her for _anything?_"

"If we hadn't renewed our relationship two years after I first broke up with you, then you'd have been happily married to someone else by now, probably with more than one child. And you wouldn't have wanted to trade that for anything, either."

But Ginny shook her head. "Harry, do you honestly think I'd have been happy with anyone else but you?" She leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. "I had a major crush on you for four years after I met you, remember? And even when I tried to get over you and see other people, it didn't work. I still remember how you kissed me in front of the entire Hogwarts Common Room." She chuckled softly, taking his hand. "It was like everything I'd ever hoped for since the moment I saw you came true" She giggled slightly, "I can still see the expression on Ron's face." She sobered slightly. "Harry, if we hadn't renewed our relationship after Ron and Hermione were married, I don't think I would have been with _anyone_ now. I think I'd still be waiting for you, because ever since I first saw you, I've felt a connection to you, and I don't think I would ever have been able to ignore that."

Harry was too overcome to speak. Finally he said in a voice made unsteady under the force of his emotions, _"His eyes are as green as fresh-pickled toad…"_

Ginny laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with relief and merriment at the turn the conversation had taken. "I worked on that poem for a week, you know," She said. "I thought it was the most amazing Valentine ever to see the light of day."

"Yes, well, poetry was never your strong point, Ginny," Harry replied, shaking his head in amusement, "I remember I nearly _died_ of embarrassment, and Malfoy teased me for weeks. What was the rest of it, d'you remember?"

"No, I've forgotten," She said, "But I do remember the last couple of lines, because I agonized over them for ages. _I wish he were mine, he's truly divine, the hero who conquered the Dark Lord._"

A shadow passed over his face, as he was reminded again of his terrible role in this war. "I didn't conquer him," He said, somberly.

"But you will," Ginny said, cupping his face gently. "Even if it takes years, you'll never give up. I believe in you. I believe that you _will_ succeed in the end."

"And that means the world to me," He replied quietly, and smiled when she leaned in to kiss him.

…

"Hello, Lily."

For someone who had never seen a person orbing before, Lily Potter was remarkably composed in the face of Chris's sudden appearance in a flurry of blue and white lights right behind her.

"Chris, right?" She asked.

He inclined his head, and she regarded him for a moment in silence. "What are you doing here?" She asked, not bothering to introduce herself, "From what I've heard, you're a very busy man." _Far too busy to be wasting time with me._

"I am busy," Chris acknowledged after a beat, "But I'm also your whitelighter. And I can feel that you're troubled, frustrated by something. It's my job to help my charges with their problems."

She tilted her head at him. "And out of all your charges' problems, you find mine the worst of all?"

_No, not by a long shot.__ But you're Harry Potter's daughter, and somehow, even though it shouldn't matter, it does._ But of course, he couldn't give that as an answer. "Your troubles are most pressing for _you_, and that's all I care about." He was slightly sickened to realize that he was good at this kind of _bullshit_, good at making himself sound more selfless than he really was. But he had enough reasons for which to hate himself without adding more, so he pushed the unwelcome realization away from his mind, and asked her, even though he thought he knew, "What's troubling you, Lily?"

She was silent for a time; and then, she said in a rush, "I should be at that meeting today."

Chris studied her for a moment. "And your father has forbidden you from attending it."

Lily blew out a frustrated breath. "He doesn't want me involved in the war."

"Is that so hard to understand? He wants to protect you." Even as he said it, Chris could feel that she _did_ understand, and that was what made it so much more complicated.

"I know he wants to protect me, but he doesn't understand that I'm already involved, just by virtue of being his daughter. He can't protect me from Voldemort, and he shouldn't be able to prevent me from fighting him if I choose to. I'm of age. But to be a member of the Order, you need its leader's consent, which I don't have, and which at this rate, I'll never get." She sighed. "Sirius joined the moment he turned seventeen, and even though he's only gone on two missions so far, at least he has the comfort of knowing he's actually _doing_ something. And Molly's only fifteen, but she's already preparing to join. I feel so useless, compared to them."

Chris was silent for a moment. "Do you know what your father's worst fear is?" She shook her head. "It's that Voldemort will use you against him the way…the way my family was used against me."

Lily stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment and then blanched when she realized what he meant. It was something she had never considered before, never even thought of. "I…I didn't…" She stammered.

Chris didn't wait for her to finish. "It's a very valid fear, Lily." He paused, and then looked away, but not before she saw the pain flash across his eyes. "If you're sure that you're prepared for something like that, then it's true, you _do_ have a right to join the Order if you want to. But you haven't even _thought_ about it." His voice dropped. "My family has been fighting evil all their lives, and we were all willing to lay down their lives for me. But _all of them_ broke and begged for their lives under torture." His voice broke slightly, but he breathed deeply and forced himself to continue, even as he wondered what it was about her that was compelling him to do so. "And I don't think you can imagine how hard it is to witness something like that, and witness it _passively_. So if you want to take part of this war effort, then you should be prepared for the possibility of your father being made to go through that, and you should be reconciled to it."

He was startled and dismayed, when he looked at her again, to see the tears in her eyes. He hadn't meant to upset her that much. "I'm sorry," He said in consternation, "I didn't mean to upset you so much."

"No," She said, and her tone was steady, belying the emotion in her eyes, "Don't be. You've given me a lot to think about…and I'm grateful."

She really was. Encouraged, he added, "If you _really_ want to be useful there are a lot of things you can still do without being a member of the Order. Are you any good at making Potions, for instance?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact; I am."

"Well, then; we're always looking for people who can make decent vanquishing Potions. Jennifer can show you what do; she's a dab hand at it, the fact that she's a mortal notwithstanding. And if you're any good at rhymes, you could help us write spells, too. There are a lot of things which need doing."

She was, thankfully, looking a little brighter. "I never thought of that." She gave him a grateful look, "Thank you, Chris."

"You're welcome."

…

"You seem perturbed about something," Snape observed, when he could no longer ignore Malfoy's uncharacteristic fidgeting.

"Perturbed," Malfoy sighed, "That has to be the understatement of the year." Snape did not respond, waiting for him to elaborate, which he did in a few moments. "I'm just dreading the Order meeting. I can just imagine the uproar when Potter reveals my identity to everyone."

"But he has promised to support you," Snape said. "That is all that should matter, really."

"I know," Malfoy sighed again, "It's just…when I think of the things they're bound to say…it brings up a lot of old demons, which I would really rather not face."

"Then it is high time you face them, if they still have so much power over you," Snape said decisively. "Really, Draco. You're no longer the person you used to be, and you should be able to let the past go by now. Besides…" His voice dropped slight, "You have far less to atone for than I do."

Malfoy shook his head. "You have nothing more to atone for, Severus."

"Do not speak of what you don't know. You didn't know me during my Death Eater days, something which I am profoundly thankful for. But we digress. We were talking about you."

"It's my son," Malfoy said, finally coming to the heart of it, "I'm scared about what he'll think when he hears about my past. I've been his hero all my life and…" He shuddered, "I've seen firsthand what happens when the person you look up to most does something so horrendous that…" He stopped abruptly.

"You are not Wyatt Haliwell, Draco, and your son is _certainly_ not Chris Haliwell," Snape said sharply, "Don't draw comparisons like that, for the sake of your own peace of mind. Just… prepare him a little in advance. Tell him the truth."

"A truth like that?" Malfoy asked, "He's only twelve years old."

"But he'll hear it anyway, from others," Snape pointed out, "And you shouldn't underestimate children. They understand more than most people would think. Trust me, Draco; he'll far prepare to hear it from you than as a topic of gossip among perfect strangers."

There was a long pause. "Then I should go now," Draco said at last, "I should tell him before the meeting."

"Yes," Snape said calmly, "Yes you should."

…

"Richard?"

"Dad! Where have you _been?_ Mom and I haven't seen you since yesterday, and-"

"Let that wait for a while, Richard," Draco hastily interrupted his son, knowing all too well the boy's tendency to rmable. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Sensing that it was serious from his father's tone, Richard sobered. "Of course, Dad."

"Walk with me, then."

The twelve-year-old followed his father out of the room in silence, and Malfoy slowed so he could fall into stip with him. Richard peered up at his father's troubled expression, hesitated a moment, and then gently clasped his hand. Malfoy's throat constricted at the way that small hand clung so trustingly to his. _Please don't let me lose this, _he thought achingly. _Please don't let me lose **him**._

"Dad? Is something wrong?"

Malfoy cleared his throat and looked dwon into those soft brown eyes, and remembered the first time they had blinked up at him on Richard's birthday. "Son, you know that I've always…avoided…questions from concerning my past. I've never answered questions about my life before I met your mother."

"You…you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Daddy."

The last word brought tears to Malfoy's eyes. "But I _do _want to, Richard," He said, "I think it's time you knew the truth about me. I was born in this world. Here, in England." He ignored his son's gasp of wonder, and said, "I attended this school, along with the man who is now Headmaster, Harry Potter. But things were different then." He became lost in memory. "_I_ was different. My parents were evil. They served a very powerful Dark wizard." At Richard's blank look, he phrased it in words his son, who had grown up knowin Wiccan ways, would understand. "A powerful, bad demon. The Dark Lord Voldemort. My parents were his minions. I was raised to look down on everyone around me, and I was taught the Dark Arts. Evil magic. Potter had defeated when he was a baby because of a backfiring spell, so for most of my childhood, I talked about him without really understanding what he was. But he rose again, and when he did, I had to prove that I was willing to act on my touted beliefs. I was asked to prove my loyalty to Voldemort by killing a powerful good wizard." He paused.

"Did you do it?" Richard asked, his voice squeaking slightly. Malfoy took care not to look at him, or he knew he would lose his nerve.

"No. I fully intended to, but I was unable to when it finally came down to it. I was only sixteen at the time; only four years older than you are now. My godfather, who is a teacher here, killed him in my stead and helped me to escape. We both ran away to America, and moved in to a house opposite the Haliwell manor, although neithr of us realized tha then."

"Your godfather _killed_ the wizard?" Richard asked shrilly, and Malfoy winced.

"Yes, but only because the wizard, Dumbledore, _asked_ him to," He said, hastening to clear Snape of blame. "You see, my godfather was a spy. He pretended to serve Voldemort, while actually serving Dumbledore, so that he could help the Light side to fight him better by giving them information about their enemy."

"Like Bianca, when she was spying on Lord Wyatt," Richard said.

Malfoy was surprised his son knew about that. Granted, it had been a bit of an open secret at the Resistance, but he would not have expected it to be known even to the young ones. Snape was right about children understanding more than people gave them credit for. "Yes, exactly like that," He confirmed, "Dumbledore was already dying from a Dark curse. He asked my godfather to kill him to spare _me_ from having to do it, and also so Voldemort would be fully convinced that he was on his side."

"So he killed him."

"Yes. And then we both ran away to America, and my godfather gave me to the Charmed Ones to take care of, but under a different name and appearance."

"You're wearing a glamour?"

"Yes, I am."

"But why?" Richard's brows were furrowed in confusion, "You didn't do anything."

"I fully intended to."

"But you didn't," Richard insisted, "You never did anything evil, and you didn't kill any innocents. So why do you have to wear glamour?"

"My parents were very bad people. Everyone here hated them, and that's why they hate me, too."

"But that would be like hating Chris because he's Wyatt's brother. It's not your fault your parents are evil."

Malfoy thanked the gods that his son was still so innocent in spite of everything. Relief was coursing through his veins as he replied softly, "No, it isn't. But others don't see it like that."

There was a pause, and then Richard asked, with surprising perceptiveness, "Is that why you hesitated to tell me the truth all these years? Because you were afraid that I wouldn't see it like that, either?"

For a moment, Malfoy didn't know what to say. "Yes," He said finally, "Yes, I was."

"You didn't need to be." The mildly reproachful tone made Malfoy's heart contract with relief and love and gratitude.

"I know that now," He said in a choked voice, "I love you, Richard."

"I love you too, Daddy."

…

TBC…

Did you guys read the new Harry Potter! Wasn't it fantastic?! The best of the lot! I can't believe I managed to guess so many things correctly! It's too bad there won't be anymore, though. sniffles

I've been really busy with college and stuff. Which, by the way, is great fun. I've signed up for the Shakespeare Society, the Music Society, The Wildlife Society, and I plan to sign up for the English Literary Society, too.

Also, my short story got published in a magazine! It's my first work that I was able to publish, so I'm ecstatic. And that was on Sunday, the day after I finished reading Harry Potter, so it was a really nice way to end he weekend. :D

I have to go! My roommate is grumbling because she wants to go to bed and she can't sleep with the lights on. That's the one thing we always clash on- she's an early sleeper and I'm a late one. Please review!


	13. The Order Meeting

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 13: The Order Meeting

---

"December 24th, 2025. I now call this meeting to order. I request Kingsley Shacklebolt to record the minutes."

The beginning was actually quite tedious. Chris got thoroughly bored listening to Harry, Remus, Moody and Snape debate for the better part of an hour whether there should be more security measures taken to protect Grimauld Place, and if so, what they should entail. Harry and Snape were, amazingly, in agreement; they both believed that Wiccan magic should be used. Moody was suspicious of Wiccan magic, and was arguing that it couldn't be trusted. Remus was of the opinion that they didn't know enough about the theory of Wiccan Magic to be using it, and they should study it first before making a decision. There was a great deal of talking and debating, and by the time a decision had been taken, Chris was too fed up with the entire procedure to make note of it. It didn't concern him much anyway- he knew that the preoccupations he himself had taken would more than suffice. He was unused to this slow, democratic decision-making; in the Resistance, the constant need for quick decision-making meant that there was no time for anyone to question anything.

After that, a number of other issues were discussed extensively, each picked out from an itinerary which Harry had compiled earlier. The least problematic matters were resolved first, with the most controversial matters at the end of the list. Second to last on the list was the issue of Draco Malfoy. The revelation of his identity created such uproar that even Chris was stunned. Moody, perhaps thinking that it was Lucius Malfoy before him, tried to attack Malfoy. The latter instinctively threw up his force field. This untimely revelation of his Wiccan magic produced even more commotion. Harry's announcement that he was not going to punish his old archrival for his failed attempt at murder when he was teenager was the final straw.

Moody went nearly purple with rage, and Ron was not very far behind him. In fact, the only people besides Harry that were behaving remotely rational were Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger, although they were completely out cried by the others. After much shouting and cursing and abuse heaped on Malfoy's head, Harry finally saw that there was no way the Order would agree with his decision. He invoked the magic of the Order that would protect Malfoy from any attack, physical or magical, from any Order member. This decision was met with complete anarchy for awhile, but when Harry made it clear that he wasn't changing his mind, people gradually began to quiet down, albeit with ill grace.

Harry then drew their attention to the most important issue of the day- that of the Horcrux. Until then, it had only been known to a select few that the Horcrux had disappeared from the H-map at exactly the same moment that Wyatt had simmered out. Which was why the revelation shocked the other Order members enough to make them forget the Malfoy issue.

"What?" Ernie Macmillan gasped, "And you say he's even more powerful than You-Know-Who? We're doomed!"

"Shut it, Ernie; of course we're not doomed," Harry said repressively, "We just have to-"

"This Lord Wyatt person- he's Haliwell's brother, isn't he?" Interrupted Zacharias Smith, a middle-aged man with a hard, angular face and a shock of blonde hair.

"And what if I am?" Chris asked, meeting the man's gaze fearlessly.

"Well..." Smith said, in a voice that was loaded with meaning in spite of its deceptively casual tone, "There hasn't been any link between the US and here in over two decades. And the last we were aware; the Dark Lord's last Horcrux was his snake, Nagini. And now you come along. Haliwell, you are the only thing that links this world to your brother. I find that very interesting."

_I don't give a damn what you find interesting, _Chris thought irritably, but quickly checked himself. Now was not the time to lose his temper.

"What exactly are you implying?" Adrian, the other member of the Resistance who was attending the meeting, bristled at Smith's tone.

"Let me spell it out for you. How did this _Wyatt_ person get a hold of that Horcrux? It seems to me that it has to have something to do with Haliwell here. He's the only thing that links Wyatt to our world. Apart from Malfoy, that is.

"Ian had nothing to do with this, and neither did I," Chris snapped in spite of his resolution to reign in his temper. Smith's suspicion was giving him a pounding headache.

"Zach, Chris doesn't even know who Voldemort is," Harry interjected, remembering suddenly how Smith had treated him the same way in their fifth year, when no one had believed that Voldemort had returned. Even though Smith had mellowed slightly over the years, even though they'd become good friends fighting side by side for so long, some things hadn't changed. "We questioned him under Veritaserum. He's clear."

"Not completely," Moody stated. His revolving eye was fixed on Chris, who had to force himself from squirming under its gaze. "You did say that the Dark Lord's name was familiar to you. That you'd heard it somewhere, but you didn't know where."

Harry groaned inwardly. Moody had the worst timing. But the man was _right_, so he didn't interfere.

"That's true," Chris said, "And you'll be pleased to know that I had a couple of people research the matter, find out a bit about Voldemort's history, see if there's any record of him ever being in San Francisco. There wasn't any, but it occurred to me that if my family had encountered him before, there would definitely have been an entry in the Book of Shadows. I figured that was probably why the name was so familiar in the first place. So I cast a spell to take me back to where I had seen his name, and sure enough, I had read an entry on him, when I was eight or something. There wasn't much information on him. It said that he was a powerful lower level wizard who had been turned right from his childhood, and had risen to power in England. A basic vanquishing Potion would be enough to take care of him if we ever encountered him. That entry was pretty old. Probably dated before my birth."

Harry was staring at Chris in complete amazement. He had no inkling of how the boy had managed to find the time to research Voldemort so thoroughly with everything else going on in his life. He was extremely impressed. Once again, he could see why Chris was such an effective leader.

Smith, on the other hand, had a completely different view of the matter. "How convenient, Haliwell!" He exclaimed derisively, "If your family encountered the Dark Lord so long ago, then you can't possibly know anything about it, can you? And with your entire family dead, there's no way he can possibly find out! So you're innocent beyond a shadow of doubt, and we're still no better off than before."

"Do you think I chose to have my family tortured to death in front of me?" Chris said, torn between anger and incredulity. "Are you actually implying that it's more _convenient_ for me now that they're dead?"

"Zach? That's a bit much, even from you." There was an edge to Harry's voice which Smith picked up on along with everyone else.

"Yes, well," Smith said, recapitulating gruffly, "The point is there's no way to find out how or even when his family encountered the Dark Lord, because they're all dead."

"You could try summoning your mother," Adrian suggested.

Chris's face fell slightly. "I tried. It didn't work. The Elders still don't think I'm ready to see her."

"Wait a second, did you say _summoned?_ As in from the dead?" Sirius Weasley was staring at Chris, wide-eyed. "You can raise the dead?"

"Yes. No. We can't raise the dead, but we can summon a spirit for a brief period of time by a spell."

"So why can't you summon your family?"

"They died too recently," Chris explained, "The Elders don't allow spirits to be summoned by their loved ones until they deem that both parties are ready for such a meeting. Although I'm starting to believe it's just because they hate me," He added, muttering.

"Why would they hate you?" Smith asked, "Aren't they the keeper of all good, or something? What did you do to anger them?"

"It's more what I did to anger _one _of them. The leader." Chris had been dreading this for days, having long suspected that it would come to this in spite of his greatest efforts.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, frowning.

Chris ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't completely honest when I said my entire family was dead. That's not technically true."

"Chris, no," Adrian said, "You can't."

"Can't what?" Someone asked.

Chris ignored them. "I have to," He said in an expressionless voice, "It's the only way."

"But you swore you'd never ask him for anything again!"

Chris flinched. "Do you think I've forgotten that!" He snapped, "Do you think I haven't beaten myself up about it over the last few days? Do you think I actually want to see him after all this time?" He glared at Adrian for a moment and then sighed, his temper fading away as he realized his friend was speaking only out of concern for him. "The truth is," He continued wearily, "I'm willing to do anything if concerns my brother. Even this. I have to call him."

"Call who?" Harry asked.

"My father," Chris replied with a sigh, and Harry blinked at the unexpected answer.

"Are you...on bad terms with him?" He asked.

Chris grimaced slightly at the understatement. "You could say that."

"But...how will you call him?" Harry asked, frowning, "I thought you said that your spells would make sure that no one could just orb or shimmer in and out of here as and when they pleased?"

"I made an exception for my father," Chris said, pain suddenly flashing across his eyes, "Just in case he ever needed protection from Wyatt and needed to orb to me." _Not that he ever expressed any gratitude for it._

There was a short silence, and then Moody growled, "So what are you waiting for, boy?"

Chris shot him a Look, and then turned his eyes heavenward. "Leo!"

Nothing. As usual. It shouldn't have affected him after all these years, but it still did.

"Leo!" He called again, and began to pace impatiently, with mounting frustration. He couldn't believe that the man was doing this to him yet again. And this time, it was in front of an audience, who were all going to get a telling insight into what kind of father he had. "Leo!" He shouted, this time in a voice tinged with anger. When there was still no response, the thin thread on which his temper had been hanging snapped completely. "Damn it, Dad!" He shouted, causing quite a few people to jump. "Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you didn't come when you were called?"

A ringing silence followed his words, and then Leo materialized in front of him in a shower of blue and white lights, an expression of fury twisting his otherwise handsome features. He strode towards Chris, and raised his hand to strike him, but stopped just short of his face with a visible effort. "How dare...you remind me of that," He hissed through clenched teeth.

Chris was frozen for a moment, and then he said softly, his eyes fixed on the hand poised an inch away from his cheek, remembering the time, almost four years ago, when that hand had connected hard with his face. "Go ahead and hit me," He said frigidly, "It wouldn't be the first time anyway."

Leo flinched, and dropped his hand. "I didn't mean- I shouldn't have slapped you," He muttered. For all his failings as a father, he was still a pacifist to the bone, and had spent a number of sleepless nights over that one time in his life when he'd let his temper get the best of him. But the guilt didn't last long; it was replaced quickly by anger. "But you shouldn't have reminded me about that night. You have no idea what I went through."

Chris stared at his father in disbelief. "I have no idea what you went through?" He said incredulously, "_I _have no idea what _you_ went through? Mom died in my arms because you failed to come when I called you!" By this time, he had completely forgotten about the avid audience party to this exchange, so caught up was he in his long-suppressed emotions.

"I didn't know she was that badly injured!" Leo protested, his face turning an ugly red colour.

"You should have been able to tell by the way I was begging and pleading with you to come! Hell, you should have been able to tell by the fact that I was calling you in the first place," He added so bitterly that he surprised even himself.

Leo made a disgusted noise. "Did you call me just to yell at me, and complain about how I neglected you when you were young? Or did you actually have something to say?"

Anger and hurt made him blurt out the other reason he'd known he had to call Leo sooner than he'd intended. "I thought you might care to know that our family is all dead!" He spat. "And at the hand of your precious Twice Blessed son!"

"W-what?" Leo stammered, all colour draining from his face. "But how? _All of them?_"

"Wyatt tortured them to extract information from me," Chris said more quietly, "He killed them when he realized I wasn't going to break."_ Although if your bond with your family was as strong as it should have been, you would have known that already. You would have felt each of their deaths, just like I did._

Leo was silent for a moment as he digested this. Then he turned on Chris in fury. "This is all your fault!" He shouted, "If you had lifted the spell, if you had let me talk to him-"

"-it wouldn't have changed anything!" Chris hollered back. Against his will, he was pulled back to the memory of the last conversation he'd had with his father.

"You can't actually mean to go up against him," Leo had said.

_"I do, Dad." Chris spoke quietly, but firmly. "I have to. He's killing innocents left and right. Innocents, dad. We have a responsibility to protect them. It's what mom would have wanted," He added more hesitantly, because for all the assurance with which he spoke to the newly formed Resistance, he wasn't at all sure he wasn't betraying his family by making this decision. **Please, for once in your life, tell me that I'm doing the right thing.**_

_"And I'm trying to find away! I've been trying for the last two years! But... it's completely hopeless. Every time I tried to talk him into reason, I wound up being thrown across the room for refusing to join him. I barely escaped with my life the last time."_

_"Let me talk to him."_

**_As usual, no concern for me._**

_"No."_

_Leo drew himself up to his full height. "And what's going to prevent me?"_

_Chris braced himself. "A spell I cast on you two years ago to prevent you from ever being able to find him."_

_There was a ringing silence, and then Leo's hand connected hard with Chris's face. "That's why I haven't been able to find him?" He asked hoarsely, "Two years of searching in vain, and it was because of you?"_

_Chris's mind was reeling. He couldn't believe that his father, his pacifist, peace-loving, Elder father, had actually raised a hand on him. For all his faults, for all things that Chris had suffered at his father's hands, abuse had never been one of them. Until now. _

_"How could you do such a thing?" Leo shouted, furious. "**Why **would you do such a thing?!"_

_"I did it to protect you, Dad," Chris whispered, his green eyes filling involuntarily with tears. "I didn't want you to get hurt trying to go after him, which I knew you would, when you realized what he'd become."_

_"You kept me away from him," Leo said, "If I'd been able to talk to him, to see him- maybe I would have been able to do something. Maybe I could have turned him back. But you took my son away from me."_

_"I'm your son too," Chris whipsered, "But somehow you never seem to remember that."_

_But Leo ignored him, focussed only on one thing._

_Are you going to undo the spell?"_

_Chris's jaw set. "No."_

_"But Wyatt-"_

_"You won't change anything by just talking to him. And since you won't use your magic to defend yourself against him, you'll be completely vulnerable if he attacks. I can't undo the spell under these circumstances."_

_"I don't need your protection, Chris," Leo said in a patronizing tone. "I'm going to get your aunts to undo the spell, if you won't."_

_He orbed away, leaving Chris to stare after him. He knew his aunts would not undo the spell. And that would make Leo all the angrier at **him**, even though he had done nothing for which to be blamed. For the first time, he could see with perfect clarity what his father was. All his life, he had made excuses for Leo's neglect, sometimes even believing that it was **his** inferiority that had made him act the way he did. In spite of how furious he had been when Leo had failed to come and save Piper, Chris had still loved him. But now, he knew that he had to sever all his ties with his father. He couldn't continue to explain away his father's neglect of him- the missed birthdays, the missed plays, the missed recitals. He could no longer suppress the anger that had been festering in him for as long as he could remember; it was taking hold of him in a way that frightened Chris as nothing else had before._

_Leo couldn't be Dad anymore. He hadn't been Dad for longer than he could remember- Chris had just been in denial about that._

_His father deserved all the hatred that Chris was capable of, and more._

_And yet, though it was the last time he'd ever admit it, even to himself...Chris still loved him._

---

"Look, I don't call you here to argue with you," Chris said in an exasperated tone, "So can you just drop it for a while? I wanted to ask you if our family ever encountered someone who looked like this."

Chris handed over a picture of Voldemort to his father, cut out of an old newspaper. Leo stared down at the picture. "This...this is Voldemort!" He said, "I recognize his face. He was after your brother."

Chris paled. "He what?" He asked sharply, leaning forward.

"I orbed in to the nursery one night to see Wyatt and found him standing over Wyatt's crib. I think he was startled to see me, because he vanished before I could do anything, and Wyatt was, as far as we could see, completely unharmed. The thing that alarmed us was that he'd found a way to get past Wyatt's shield. We searched for him for awhile, but we couldn't find him. Every time we tried to scry for him, the crystal would land on our house. It was the strangest thing. We were really worried about it for awhile, but we had to give up trying to figure it out, because we just couldn't find him."

"The crystal kept landing on our house?" Chris asked, with a deep sense of foreboding. Even though he didn't know exactly what this meant, he knew for certain that it was nothing good. A thought struck him, and he frowned. "What did you use to scry with?"

"A page from a book we found near the crib- Voldemort had left it there in his haste to get out of there. It was the only thing we had to go on to find him. But the book was another thing we never got to the bottom of. It was written in a script that no one, not even the Elders, had ever seen before. Eventually, we put it in the Magic School for safekeeping, because we pretty sure it was dangerous. It was emanating evil- all the Sisters could sense it."

Wyatt had tortured his family to get, because he had known the matter would come up somewhere in the course of the meeting. It was a black book, bound in leather. There was a murky, silver lettering on the cover, in a strange, sinister script. The pages were all black as night, and the writing inside was in the same murky silver ink. The whole thing was singing with Dark magic, just as Leo had said.

"Yes!" Leo said, "It was. Where did you get it? I thought Magic School had been overrun." He looked around, for the first time noting both his surroundings, as well as the expressions on everyone's faces. "What's going on? Where am I, for that matter? This isn't the Resistance, is it? Not in the middle of Scotland."

No one answered him; they were all too focussed on the book. "What _is_ that?" Hermione asked, "I've never seen anything like it." She squinted at it. "Am I mistaken or is the ink..._moving?_ It looks kind of...snake-like."

"Can I please see that?" Harry asked suddenly.

Chris passed it to him, and Harry examined the cover. "The Journal of Lord Voldemort: An Account of Immortality," He read, "What's so difficult about that to read?"

"You can _read _it?" Chris asked in amazement.

"Of course I can," Harry replied, "It's in English."

The two stared at each other, perplexed. Then Hermione said with dawning comprehension. "_Snake-like._ Oh, my God, it's in Parseltongue!" Her eyes were shining with excitement. "That's how you can read it, Harry!"

"Parseltongue?" Chris asked.

"Snake language. Harry and Voldemort are the only two wizards of this century who can speak and understand it, and apparently read it, now. I had no idea that it even had a script. You said it looks like English, Harry?"

"Yeah." He flipped through the pages gingerly, and paled as the full import of what he was saying hit him. "Merlin."

"What?" Chris asked.

"This...this is an account of the exact step by step process that Voldemort had to go through to make a Horcrux."

"Merlin." Ron, who was sitting next to Harry with his head bent over the book, jerked away as if it had burned him.

"But what was it doing near Wyatt's crib?" Chris asked.

"I think I know," Harry answered, in a tone that did nothing to ease Chris's sense of foreboding, "But just to make sure, Mr. Wyatt..." Harry turned to Leo. "Was there a dead body anywhere near your son's crib?"

"Yes. A dead wood nymph."

Chris's stomach clenched. Wood nymphs were the protectors of nature, and therefore considered to be the keepers of life and innocence- they were one of the greatest creations of good magic. The slaughter of a wood nymph was the heights of evil. Even demons didn't stoop to it for the most part.

Harry, in the meantime, was looking as though his worst fears had come to pass. "I was afraid of that," He muttered.

"Afraid of what?" Chris asked sharply.

"Why would Voldemort have the book with him at your house? Why was there a dead wood nymph? Did you know that one of the conditions for the creation of a Horcrux is that an innocent life has to be taken?"

"You mean...Voldemort created a Horcrux that night?"

"Yes. His last Horcrux. _Your brother._"

---

TBC...

Sorry it's been so long, college has been the heights of hectic. It's a miracle I even managed to get this up, because I have to go for a four-day college trip to a hill station today. And I still haven't finished packing, so I'm going to have to run, now. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I also hope that when I get back from Nainital, I'll have a nice set of reviews awaiting me. Ciao!

And a belated Happy Rakshabandhan to all those who celebrate the festival.


	14. No Choice

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 14: No Choice

…

_"What?!" _Chris's voice rose in disbelief, "That's insane!"

"No it's not," Harry insisted, "Think about it, Chris. You'll know I'm right."

"But how could Voldemort have _possibly _made a living being into a Horcrux?" Chris's head was reeling from this new development- and it wasn't helping that he could _feel_ just how many people in the room concurred with Harry's view on the matter. His head was beginning to throb already.

"It is possible," Hermione informed him, "We thought for so long that Nagini was the last Horcrux, and that's why we could never understand why she never showed up on the H-maps. But-" She frowned, "But if Voldemort did make Wyatt his last Horcrux, then how come we didn't see it on the maps when we made the H-maps for USA? Chris is right, Harry; it doesn't make sense."

"As a matter of fact, Mrs. Weasley," Snape interrupted smoothly, "The process for making a living, thinking being into a Horcrux is somewhat different than that of using an inanimate object. A Horcrux is a shard of a person's soul- it has a will and even a life of its own. That is the danger of using a living, thinking to make a Horcrux- it involves, simply put, the fusion of two souls. Any creature of reasonable intelligence would be affected by it." He shot Chris a pointed look, as if he wasn't sure that his brother fit this definition, and Chris resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Since the act of making a Horcrux is itself so Dark," Snape continued, "And, can only be performed by a Dark and very powerful wizard...Well. Let me just say that the combination rarely results in the creation of what some might call a sunny disposition."

Snape's gift of making an understatement sound like prophesized doom was doing nothing to lighten Chris's mood. "Such being the case," Snape continued, "There is a way to deactivate a Horcrux- to deaden the shard of the soul once it has been torn away from the original. It is very Dark magic, but it is fairly effective. The Dark Lord most likely used it if, as Potter suggests- and I'm rather inclined to agree with him, as circumstantial evidence seems to prove his point- he used your brother as a host for the last Horcrux. The Horcrux would have remained dormant in Wyatt, which is why the H-maps were unable to trace it. From what Draco has told me, Wyatt turned to evil right after his mother's death. It is my belief that his violent reaction, both in terms of emotion and his magic, activated the Horcrux without the Dark Lord's ever intending it to happen."

"Even if that's true, we should still have been able to see it in the last six years," Hermione argued, "The H-maps for the USA were never monitored very closely, but they were checked periodically. If the Horcrux was at large in North America, we would have known it before long. After all, if the Horcrux _was _activated when Wyatt was sixteen, its movements would have been visible on the H-map from then until now- that's six years. We couldn't possibly have missed it."

Chris cleared his throat. Even though he wanted desperately to continue in his earlier disbelief the entire thing was beginning to make too much sense for him to continue to not acknowledge the possibility of its happening. "Wyatt never left the Underworld if he could help it. He built an impenetrable lair around himself, and never left it- it was one way of making sure that nothing, especially his family, would be able to get to him. He kept tabs on the outside world through his probes, and from time to time he would astral project his image aboveground and terrify people with a few spells. It was all he really needed to do to sustain his rule. The other day was actually the first time he's come aboveground since he first turned evil. And since you don't have maps of the Underworld, you wouldn't have been able to find the Horcrux. Assuming there _was _a Horcrux," He added, still not wanting to believe it.

"I'm not totally convinced he was, either," Ron said, a frown creasing his forehead. "It would mean that all those years that we thought Voldemort had already made_ all_ of his Horcruxes, he hadn't actually done anything of the sort. He made it as recently as ten years ago? _2005?_ Why would he wait for that long? I mean; all the other Horcruxes were made before Harry was born- that's 1980. It doesn't make sense that he waited."

"The birth of the Twice Blessed was prophesized for many years before the actual event," Snape said, "The Dark Lord could have planned to make Wyatt his last Horcrux for years before he was even _born._ Perhaps that is why he chose to wait."

"But why would he make my brother the last Horcrux?" Chris asked, "The Twice Blessed? The most powerful being of magic to be born in Wiccan history? Wouldn't he think it far too much of a risk to attach his soul to a power that far exceeded his?"

"He was prophesized to be powerful, yes;" Snape interjected with his usual coolness, "But he was supposed to also be the epitome of good magic. He was going to be raised by a Charmed One and a whitelighter. With such a concentration of good magic, no one expected him to turn to evil. And you must remember also that Wyatt would probably have been a threat to the Dark Lord if he grew too powerful. By making Wyatt his Horcrux, it would mean that he would be unable to destroy the Dark Lord- call it a form of insurance, if you will. Not to mention the fact that Wyatt is powerful to the point of being virtually indestructible. Rather than seeing it as risky, I am convinced that the Dark Lord likely saw it as the surest way of safe-guarding the Horcrux."

The room was enveloped in silence after Snape finished speaking. No one knew what to say, because the whole argument had been so conclusive that they no longer had any cause to refute it. No one dared to look at Chris, but that didn't matter in the least- he could feel every one of their emotions, and they were making his head ache so badly he could scarcely think. He took a swig from the Self-Replenishing Vial Harry had given him, which he now wore permanently around his neck on a chain charmed to be unbreakable. He immediately felt the pain ebb away, and was able to think clearly about what Snape had just said.

It was only moments before he was forced to acknowledge everything both Harry and Snape were saying. Wyatt _had _to be Voldemort's last Horcrux. There was no other explanation of all the evidence in hand. It was a bit of a relief, to know for sure that his brother was not responsible for what he was now. But the realization also filled him with a deep sense of horror. He looked at his father, and shuddered slightly. There was no longer even a faint possibility of saving Wyatt or turning him back to good. Chris had to face something he had feared for the last six years- that the only way to stop his brother was to kill him. And the only one strong enough to do it was Chris, himself. For one, wild moment he considered continuing to deny the truth. It would certainly make his life easier where Leo was concerned. He knew that taking that path would be the surest way of estranging his father for the rest of his life. But duty always came first for Chris, and this time was no exception. With so many people depending on him, he really had no choice.

"Well," He said very quietly, and the word conveyed such a wealth of weariness and sorrow and resignation and determination, that Harry found himself fighting tears. "I suppose that leaves us no choice, does it? My brother has to be stopped."

Hermione's eyes were wet, as she said; "Chris, we won't be able to just stop him. The Horcrux..."

"...has to be destroyed," Chris finished for her, "I know, Mrs. Weasley. My brother has to be killed, and I'm the only one powerful enough to kill him."

"You'll do no such thing!" Leo interrupted angrily. He had been silent until this point only because he hadn't understood what was going on, but he understood only too clearly what Chris had just said. "How can you even _think _such a thing? He's your brother!"

"Not anymore," Chris said, ruthlessly suppressing the tumult of emotion that threatened to overtake him at Leo's words, "Now he's only a huge amount of magical power governed by the soul of an extremely Dark lower-level witch. The brother I knew would never have wanted his magic to be used for evil. Now that I know that it definitely isn't him in there, that it was something _external _that turned him, and he's entirely blameless for what he is now-" He was suddenly choked with guilt; because how could he ever have doubted it? How could he have even thought for a moment that Wyatt was corrupted by his own power, or by Excalibur? It felt like a betrayal even to have thought it. "If there's anything of my brother that hasn't been consumed by _Lord_ Wyatt," Chris said, and although his voice shook, it rang with conviction, "He'd thank me for killing him."

"But you can still turn him back!" Leo protested, "If you would just let me talk to him, maybe I can-"

_"No." _

Leo knew by that tone of voice that there was no use arguing. "Damn you!" He shouted, startling both himself and Chris with his profanity. "Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"I'm just trying to keep you safe," Chris said, softly.

"No, you're just being selfish," Leo said, spurred by his anger to say things he was normally too self-righteous to admit even to himself, even though they were true; "You always let your emotions stand in the way of the Greater Good. Wyatt would never have done that. If you had been in his place now, he would have let me try and save you."

"And would you have tried to save me?" Chris asked his father angrily, "Would you have even_ cared?_ If I was the one who turned to evil, wouldn't you have expected it?_ Because I've always been a disappointment to you, haven't I? _And that's why you wish that it was _me_ who had turned to evil when mom died; _me_ who had turned my back on everything our family stood for, because that would have hurt you so much less!"

There was a long silence after these words, punctuated only by Chris's harsh breathing. Leo, when he did speak, did not respond to Chris's tirade, as usual refusing to acknowledge that his younger son's emotions counted for anything at all.

"If Wyatt dies at your hand," He said, and his voice carried a note of pure truth in it which nearly broke Chris, "Then so help me God, but I'll never forgive you." He orbed away.

Chris was not far behind him.

It was some hours after the meeting when Harry cautiously entered Chris's room to find him sitting with hunched shoulders at the foot of his bed, his face buried in his hands. His heart clenched at the sight, and for a moment he even thought Chris might be crying. But Chris looked up, and Harry saw that his face was perfectly dry. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then sat down beside him.

"I read the journal," He said softly.

"I know," Chris said, "I _felt_ it. I knew the moment you got confirmation for the conclusion we came to during the meeting. And you knew I would. That isn't why you're here."

"I'm here because I'm concerned for you," Harry said, "What happened today-"

"Please, can we _not_ talk about that?" Chris all but snapped.

Harry didn't say anything in reply, merely regarded him with silent compassion, causing him to drop his eyes in consternation. "I'm sorry," He said, "I didn't mean to snap - not at you."

Harry didn't say anything for a long moment. Then suddenly, he said, in a voice choking with some nameless emotion, "Leo doesn't deserve a son like you."

"That's not true. Wyatt was a far better son than I ever was," Chris said, his green eyes dark with anguish. "You didn't know him. He could never have disappointed Leo the way I have."

"He could also never have stood up to him the way you have," Harry said, "Or am I wrong? Would Wyatt have been able to defy him? Would he have been able to go up against him, to actually cast magic on him against his will, to protect him?"

Tears stung Chris's eyes, because he couldn't deny the truth in Harry's words. "I'm not as strong as you think," He whispered, "Sometimes, I actually consider taking off the spell. So that at least he would stop being so _angry _with me." He laughed, harshly. "And that's so _pathetic_, right? Because he's the greatest _bastard _who ever walked this _earth_, _and_ he was the reason my _mom_ died. I should have stopped acknowledging him as my father long ago. Hell, I promised myself that I'd stop calling him 'Dad' right when I was sixteen. But I _still_ care what he thinks of me."

"That's only natural," Harry said gently, his heart going out to the young man, "He's your only living family; your _father_- and that won't change even if you _do_ refer to him by his first name. Ties of blood are hard to sever." _I should know, _he added silently, thinking of the Dursleys, whom he had walked out on for good on his seventeenth birthday. And yet, only two years later, he had dragged them to Hogwarts against their will, even though they hadn't understood that he'd done it for their protection. Even now, his aunt, now an old, greying, crotchety old lady fast approaching her eightieth year, grumbled about it whenever she saw for him; and his uncle had exploded about it regularly, until his death two years ago.

"It shouldn't be this hard," Chris whispered, looking utterly lost and not remotely like the hardened Resistance leader that Harry was so used to seeing after the past few days.

"I know," He agreed softly, feeling even more paternal than usual towards the young man than usual, because of the day's event. What he had seen of Leo's father sickened him; and his first reaction when the man had orbed out, was the sudden thought that if Chris had only been_ his_ son…Embarrassed, because he knew that Chris had ready access to his emotions, he had cut the sentence of before he could finish it, but it lurked still, unacknowledged, in a dark recess of his mind.

They were silent for a few moments, and then Chris's head snapped up, his shoulder's straightened, and he was back to his all-business mode. "So this means that we have to plan some sort of strike against Wyatt," He said, "With me at the forefront of course. We'll have to figure out the logistics. And we'll need ammunition, too- I'll tell Jenny to make some Potions; mom taught her everything there is to know about that, and she's really good. Snape can probably help, too," He added musingly.

Harry, in the meantime, was looking at him as though he had lost his mind. "Are you _insane?_ It would be suicide to even consider going up against Wyatt in your condition!"

"What do you mean?" Chris asked, sounding, to Harry's frustration, genuinely bewildered.

"Do you think I haven't notice how easily you tire these days? The number of times you take a draught from that vial around your neck? And even then, your eyes are slightly bloodshot, and I can tell you always have a headache in spite of the Potion, because I've seen you rubbing your forehead more times than I can count!" Harry shook his head emphatically. "You need to be at your best to go up against Wyatt, and to do that, you have to first get used to having so many charges. And for that you need to be able to block out their emotions, Chris."

"And how do I do that? I feel them all the time- sometimes, if they're really strong, I even confuse them with mine!"

"I know you've arranged to have Occulemency lessons with Snape," Harry said, "Those will help…although I have to warn you, it's not an easy skill to learn." He remembered his tryst with Occulemency and Snape, years and years ago in his Fifth Years, and snorted silently at the understatement. "It will take at least four or five months."

_"Four or five_ _months?!_" Chris protested, "But we can't wait that long! He'll have killed so many innocents-"

"It'll be nothing compared to how we long we'll have to wait and how many innocents will die if you go and get yourself killed!" Harry said sharply.

Chris couldn't argue with that tone; it reminded him too strongly of Piper. Not to mention the fact that Harry did have a point, though he would rather have died than admitted _that _aloud. "Alright. But we have to use these months properly. We're going to train everyone, come up with some really strong Potions. I've been thinking of unlocking a few people's Wiccan magic, like Ian did- _if_ they're agreeable. It could give us some really strong fighters. But then they'd have to be trained hard; taught to control their powers. We'll need to research ways of combing our type of magic with yours; I have a feeling we'll get really good results there…"

Harry stared at Chris as he continued to talk. He was amazed at the speed at which the young man's mind worked. Four or five months were starting to sound like too little, now, he thought, a bit dazed. _A year would have been more like it. _

…

"Hello, Lily."

She jumped at his voice, whipping around in surprise. "Hey. You scared me half to death."

"Sorry." He studied her intently for a moment, wondering if he was doing the right thing. "You know I can't tell you what happened in the Order meeting," He said finally, responding to what he knew of her emotions.

"I know. But it was something big, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was. But I didn't come here to tell you that. I'm here to ask if you can make yourself useful without asking any questions or pestering your father about it." His voice dropped. "Every day, every time he sees you or someone mentions you, I can feel his need to protect you from all this. But I can feel _your_ frustration, too- I know you want to be a part of this; want to do something significant. Well, you can, now. We need Potions. The strongest ones you know how to make- and I'll need you to experiment with them too, with Jennifer, and Snape. I spoke to a couple of people, and I know you're more gifted at Potions than the average Seventh Year."

"It's my subject of choice," Lily confirmed.

"So are you willing to do it?" He asked. "I hear that Seventh Year is quite a difficult one-"

"It's not a problem," She interrupted, "I'll do it. And don't worry," She added, anticipating his next sentence, "Dad won't find out. And I won't take it farther than just helping. I remember what you told me."

"Alright, then," He said, after a moment of studying her.

He was about to orb out when she spoke. "Why do you care so much about me? You must have a thousand other things to worry about."

_Because you're Harry Potter's daughter_, the answer came to his mind against his will,_ and even though it shouldn't matter, it does._ But of course, he couldn't say that. "You're my charge. It's my job to worry about you. I told you that once before."

"Yes," She said, "Yes, you did."

"It's not just that, though," He added, not sure why he felt the need to continue, because hadn't he already given her _one _explanation? "I think you really_ will_ be able to help us. I wouldn't have called on you, otherwise." There was something about Lily that made him feel the need to justify his actions.

She didn't say anything, but a smile broke out on her face, and Chris felt a sudden burst of joy and purposefulness from her direction, like a ray of sunlight. And for the first time in a long time, he smiled too; genuinely.

…

TBC…

Next time, the first Occulemency lesson!

Oh, someone was asking about Rakshabandhan last time. It's a Hindu festival revolving around brothers and sisters. The sister ties a rakhi (sort of like a friendship band, only not) around the brother's hand, and the brother gives the sister a gift. It's supposed to be a reaffirmation of the brother's duty to protect the sister, that's what "Rakshabandhan" translates to; 'protection-bond.' But it's become a commercial festival nowadays, more than anything else. And somewhat of a joke, too. For example, the best way of telling a guy you're not interested is considered to be tying a rakhi to him on Rakshabandhan. And one of my friends kept running around asking every male in sight if they'd give her a gift of Rs. 100 if she tied them a rakhi, because she was totally broke. It was really funny, because all the guys refused outright. Anyway, so that's Rakshabandhan.

I'm off to bed now, it's 2 in the morning and I'm totally sleep deprived. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter.


	15. How Am I Supposed To Fix This

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 15: How Am I Supposed To Fix This?

-

Snape regarded the man before him with a guarded gaze, trying to decide the best way of approaching this. "I suppose the best way to begin would be for me to practice Legilimency on you. I need to look at your mind to get an idea as to how to proceed." He studied Chris for a reaction, but the man met his gaze unflinchingly, his face giving away nothing, something that annoyed Snape slightly because he knew Chris could- and _was_- reading him like a book thanks to his empathic powers. He would have liked to have been able to at least read Chris's face.

"You understand that this is entirely new territory for me, even though I am a Master in Occulemency," He continued. "I could easily teach you how to block your _own _emotions, but to teach you how to block the thoughts of twenty-thousand odd people _as well_...there has never been anything like this before." The clinical, academic part of him was actually feeling a bit of glee at the prospect of unearthing these new, radical uses of an art to which he had dedicated his life for more than four decades. Chris's eyes narrowed as he caught the emotion.

"I am _not_ some sort of subject for you to use in an experiment," He protested, irritated.

Snape scowled at him, irked at this reminder of Chris's power over him. "You would do well to keep in mind that this _is_ an experiment," He said sternly, in that tone of silky, suppressed rage which had always made his students want to run and hide. Chris did not even blink, though, which made his mood even fouler. "One that could go wrong in more ways than you could possibly count in a thousand lifetimes," He continued, "If this does not work, the consequences could potentially be direr than anyone could ever imagine."

"You don't have to remind me of that," Chris said tersely, annoyed at the insinuation that he wasn't taking this seriously.

"Good. Then we shall proceed immediately. Brace yourself. _Legilimens!_"

The first thing he saw was the colours. He was slightly floored at first, having never had to face more than one colour at a time. Thousands and thousands of strands, all of different hues, representing the individuals they belonged to. The fact that he could tell the differences between each of them was a testament to his proficiency, He thought smugly. All the strands were tied tightly to the centre one strand- Chris's, which was an unusual colour; darker than he'd ever seen in any Light wizard.

_Purple_, He thought clinically, after taking a few moments to decipher it, _Red, and blue. Red- the colour of passion, fervour, devotion- tremendous strength of feeling. Blue- the colour of depression, or sadness brought about by personal loss. A lot of blue, judging by that dark shade. Not very surprising, considering what the boy has recently gone through. _ He recalled that Harry's strand was also a shade of purple, when he'd last seen it; though not nearly as dark, because there was far less blue than red.

He forged ahead into the dense thicket of the multi-coloured strands, hoping his mental presence wouldn't lose itself in them. Brief flashes of memory began to accost him, which he blocked with his Occulemency, wanting only to examine Chris's strand for now. When Chris's memories began to float towards him, he did not block them, and because Chris wasn't trying to prevent him from seeing them (and Snape had to marvel at the young man's self-control, because not trying to block a presence in one's mind was like defying a reflex action), they were longer than the fragments he was usually privy too.

_A brown-haired, green-eyed child, aged about seven, was pleading with a boy who looked some two years older than him._

"_But why can't I come along, Wy? I want to go with you...I want to help..." _

"_Chris, these demons are really powerful. You're too young, your powers haven't developed yet; you just won't be able to handle them, kid."_

"_How come you get to go?" Chris asked petulantly._

"_Because I'm older than you, kid."_

_-_

"_Dad isn't coming, is he." It wasn't a question._

_Piper Haliwell looked down at her youngest with a heartbroken expression, unable to find the words to tell him that his father had once again failed him._

_Chris's lower lip trembled slightly, and he breathed in slightly more deeply than normal. Then a mask descending over his face, and Piper suddenly felt as though it was a stranger, and not her son, who was standing in front of her."Its okay, mom. I'm over it. He's come only three times over the last twelve years. Why would he come for my thirteenth birthday?"_

"_I'm really sorry, peanut." _

"_Don't bother, mom. Like I said, I'm over it."_

_The mask had not faltered once._

_-_

_Chris clutched his mother desperately, willing her to hold on, even as her blood soaked the fabric of his jeans. "Dad, please...please...for once in your life, **please** come..."_

"_Chris..." Piper coughed, her brown eyes looking up into Chris's green ones._

"_No, mom, no. Don't you __**dare**__ give up on me..."_

"_I'm so sorry...I love you..."_

"_No! DAD! Oh, God, Mom, please, no..."_

_-_

"_He killed an innocent grandpa...I saw it with my own eyes. He's turning...and I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do, grandpa? How am I supposed to I fix this?"_

"_You'll find a way, Chris. You always do."_

_-_

"_We're the oldest in the family, Chris. We've had the most experience with magic. We should be the ones to head this Resistance, not you. There's no way I'm letting you become leader- you're way too young."_

"_Aunt Phoebe, think about it. You guys have your own families to worry about. If you're forced to choose between them, and innocents you don't know, who would you choose? Would you be able to make the right choice? Would __**you?**__" He turned to Paige._

"_Chris, you're sixteen years old."_

"_Physically, yes; I am. But I'm a Haliwell. I grew up too fast. And then my brother turned evil, and I aged, and lost what little innocence I had left. You can't use my age against me on this one, Aunt Paige."_

"_You don't even understand the burden of leadership."_

"_Neither do you."_

"_You're not as experienced as we are, Chris."_

"_Maybe so. But I'm more powerful than you, Aunt Paige. Face it guys, it has to be me. I'm the only one who's powerful enough. And I have the motive."_

"_Hey, we have motive too! You don't think we want to save our nephew?"_

"_Sure you do. But your kids, your family, will always come before Wyatt. But for me, he's all I have left. If one of you turned evil, wouldn't the one left try harder than anyone else, go to greater lengths than anyone else, to save their sisters life? He's my brother, Aunt Phoebe. My blood." _

_They were silent, could think of nothing to say to refute the force of his words. He looked from one to the other, and knew they would have to give in the end, no matter how much they protested at first._

"_I'm the only one who can do this, guys. It has to be me."_

_-_

"_Chris...I'm pregnant."_

"_Oh, God. Emma...Oh, God."_

"_I don't know what to do," Emma, who could not have been more than seventeenth, began to weep, and Chris, who looked pale and stunned, and not much older than her, took her in his arms. "I can't have this baby, Chris. I just __**can't."**_

"_There's no way we can abort it, Emma," Chris said, "All the hospitals are totally destroyed...and the Resistance just doesn't have any medical equipment. Whitelighters can heal injuries; they can't abort babies. We don't have a choice."_

_Emma began to cry into his shoulder, and he gently stroked her hair. When she was finally able to speak, she looked up at him with deep gratitude in her eyes."Chris...thank you so much for saying 'we.'"_

"_Of course it's 'we,' Emma. You know that I'm with you every step of the way, don't you? You know I'll treat this child no differently than if it was really mine?"_

"_I know. I love you."_

"_I love you, too."_

_- _

"_Hey." Emma looked utterly weak and exhausted, but radiantly happy as she sat, propped up on some pillows, cradling her baby in her arms._

"_Hey." Chris's voice shook slightly, but Emma didn't pull him up on it as he sat down next to her._

"_She's beautiful, isn't she?"_

"_Yes, she is. Emma..."_

"_The doctors told me there was nothing they could do, Chris. I know."_

"_If only there was some way to heal you..."_

"_This isn't an inflicted injury, Chris. It's natural. The whitelighters can only heal things which are __**meant **__to be healed." Her eyes were full as she looked down at her daughter. "I wish I could watch her grow up."_

_Chris shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears, but they escaped anyway. "Emma..." He choked._

"_Hey. Don't you dare let this break your spirit. This girl, lying in my arms right now, she's innocent right now. You can keep her innocent. As long as you have her, you'll have something to fight for. Something to hope for, even if you lose everything else. Promise me that you won't forget that."_

"_I promise."_

_-_

"_How am I supposed to fix this?"_

"_You'll find a way Chris. You always do."_

_-_

"_How are you holding up?"_

_Chris didn't look up, completely focussed on his daughter, who was sleeping peacefully in her crib, oblivious to the fact that her mother had just left the world forever. "Okay, I guess."_

"_I brought you coffee."_

"_Thanks, Bianca." He was too tired to ask how she had managed that- it could not have been. Coffee, among other things, was a luxury of the past. In silence, he sipped the bittersweet beverage, his eyes never once leaving his daughter's face._

"_Have you..." Bianca hesitated, "Have you thought about what you're going to call her?"_

"'_Hope.' I'm going to call her 'Hope.'"_

"_It's a beautiful name, Chris."_

"_Yeah, it is." _

_-_

_A face that was alight with love and familiarity._

"_After Emma died, I lost hope. Even though I promised her I wouldn't, and I named my daughter to remind me of that promise. You kept me from breaking my promise. You tricked hope back into me, Bianca. I couldn't help falling in love with you, and although I was guilty about it at first, and I thought I was moving on too fast, I don't feel that way anymore. And now I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Bianca Davies. Short or long as that life may be. Will you marry me?"_

_Eyes from which tears of joy were falling._

_Hearts that were beating more furiously than ever before._

_A voice that was choked with emotion._

"_Yes. A thousand times, yes."_

_Lips that met in a hungry, searing kiss._

_-_

"_Have you lost your mind? She's a Phoneix, for God's sake. It was bad enough when you were dating her, but now you want to __**marry**__ her? She used to work for Wyatt! She spent more than a year trying to kill you!"_

"_She isn't evil anymore, Aunt Paige. You know that."_

"_It doesn't change what she did."_

"_I love her, Aunt Paige. Why is that so hard to understand?"_

"_Because it wasn't that long ago when you were in love with Emma! Or have you forgotten your girlfriend? The one who died giving birth to the baby you call your daughter?"_

"_How can you even suggest that I would forget Emma?" Chris said angrily. "She was the love of my life. When she died, I was devastated- more than I ever let you, or anyone else, see. But Bianca saw it, and she helped me even when I tried to hide it from her. And then I fell in love with her, because there has never been anyone in my life who has understood me as well as Bianca does. Emma would have wanted me to be happy. And besides, if I marry Bianca, then Hope will have a mother, and Emma would have wanted that, too."_

"_Emma would not have wanted a Phoenix to raise her child!"_

"_It's been over a year since Emma died. I have a right to move on if I can. I love Bianca, Aunt Paige. I always will. Please try to accept that."_

_-_

"_The supplies are all gone, Chris! They're just...gone!" Bianca was shouting, her voice tinged with panic. It was the first time he'd seen her lose her cool so completely. He wondered, distantly, why he felt so far from doing so himself. His head was killing him. Everyone was devastated; horrified by what had happened. Shell-shocked, because the amount of people they'd lost this time was beyond comprehension to most of them. But not to him. He had felt their deaths. He would never forget how much it had hurt. _

"_All we have is what's already in the stores, and that's not going to last for a month. If we ration it, two months- and that's the limit."_

"_I know, Bianca."_

"_I should have done something, I should have warned you sooner..."_

"_You did everything you could, Bianca," He said dully. "If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't even have been able to save the few we did."_

"_But what the hell are we going to do, Chris? We don't have supplies, there's no way to replenish them..."_

"_We'll ration them," He said grimly, "It's the only way."_

"_But how much? For how long?"He met her eyes, and for the first time in all the time she had known him, she saw defeat reflected in them._

"_Don't ask me questions to which you know I don't have the answers," He said, very quietly._

_And then he turned and walked away.  
-_

"_How am I supposed to fix this?"_

"_You'll find a way, Chris. You always do."_

_-_

"_I'm hungry, mom. I'm so hungry..."_

"_Don't cry, sweetheart. You can eat my share today at dinner. I'm not very hungry today."_

_Chris strode away before they would turn and see him behind them, unable to bear anymore. Sobs were rising in his throat, and he orbed to his room immediately, not wanting anyone to see him like this. Then he slumped onto the bed as if all the strength had suddenly left his body. Sobs left him in harsh gasps, as if they were being torn from his body one by one._

"_How am I supposed to fix this?" He whispered._

_But this time, there was no one to answer._

_-_

"_You look like hell. What's wrong?" What else is wrong, he meant._

"_It's Darryl, Chris. He's down with cholera."_

_Chris squeezed his eyes shut. Not Darryl too, He thought. They had already lost so much, without this too."I'm so sorry, Sheila."_

"_I don't blame you." _

_But her emotions betrayed her; she did blame him, in spite of herself, in spite of her reason, guiltily, reluctantly, but undeniably. His head, which was already splitting with pain, became just that little bit worse, and he winced._

"_I'm going to my husband," She said flatly, "Come and visit him when you have the time. I'm sure he'll want to see you."_

_She turned and walked out, leaving Chris staring after her with a shattered expression._

_**How am I supposed to fix this? **_

_-_

"_Hey, Chris. I was just putting Hope down for a nap. What's up?"_

"_We have to get the Book of Shadows, Aunt Paige," He said without preamble._

"_Chris..."_

"_It's the only way we'll have a hope of turning him back. We're all going to die if we don't do something fast." He paused for a moment, and then whispered, "So many have died already, Aunt Paige. I'm responsible for them- and I can't just sit back and watch them starve slowly to death without __**doing**__ something about it."_

_Paige closed her eyes. "I guess we'd better call a meeting, then," She said, because she knew as well as he did, that desperate times called for desperate measures._

_- _

"_Congratulations Chris. You just served your entire family up to me on a silver platter. How does it feel knowing you failed them?"_

"_Hello to you too, big brother," Chris said, using sarcasm to hide the fact that every one of Wyatt's words had hit him where it hurt the most. The mission to retrieve the Book of Shadows had been foiled even before it had begun, and it was all his fault. _

"_How are you going to save the day this time, Chrissie? How are you going to fix this?"_

_Chris met Wyatt's eyes with a confidence he did not feel, and uttered the words that had been the refrain of his life for the last six years, the burden that everyone one had put on his shoulders more times than he could count._

"_I'll find a way, Wyatt. I always do."_

_-_

TBC...

Surprise, surprise; I'm actually alive. Sorry for the delay, I've been REALLY busy with college and stuff. A warning: I'm going to be really tied up for the next few months, so I may not be able to update more regularly than I'm doing now. And perhaps the chapters might diminish in length a little, although I'll try my hardest to keep that from happening. I promise, though, that I'm not abandoning this fic. I'm not even putting it on hold- I intend to keep updating as regularly as I've been doing. If that's any consolation. I hate to keep you waiting so long between updates, but I can't really help it. Gotta go, homework. (Story of my life these days). Please review!


	16. More Occulemency

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 16: More Occulemency

---

When the memories of his family's torture at the hand of his brother began, Snape pulled out of Chris's mind. Even _he_ wasn't heartless enough to make someone relive something like that. As he came to awareness, the first thing he saw was Chris on his knees on the floor, his knuckles clenched against his thighs, his face ashen. His shoulders were trembling slightly, and he was breathing in short, harsh gasps. Snape realized that the young man was desperately trying to contain sobs, his shoulders shaking from the effort, and emotions he had never expected or calculated upon when he had entered Chris's mind swept over him.

Of all the people whose minds Snape had probed, he had never met anyone more worthy of his respect and, Merlin forbid, his compassion. His irritation at the boy's empathy had vanished; having felt his terrible headaches as though they were his own, he knew that they were more of a curse to the young man than anything else. After witnessing what Chris had had to go through, feeling his emotions, thinking his thoughts, he had to admit Chris had not had it easy, even by his standards. But it wasn't just that he had had a hard life. It was the fact that he had sacrificed so much and so willingly, and that he was willing to sacrifice still more, to protect those in his care, that awakened Snape's respect. The older man had seen the bare truth about Chris's outlook on this war-the young man would kill his brother himself if that was what it took to stop him. And even though the situations weren't remotely similar, Snape knew what it was like to take the life of the person you had loved and looked up to all your life for the sake of a greater good. Chris knew that he risked losing himself completely if he killed his older brother; he feared being forced to that terrible pass every moment of every day and every night, and yet he would still do it if he had to. And he didn't even have anything to atone for, as Snape had had.

Chris made a slight noise, like a half-sob, and Snape started back to the present. He wheeled around and strode into his private storeroom. "Here," He said, and when Chris did not respond, he slid to his knees beside him. "Drink this; it well help," He said, with a gentleness that no one but his godson had ever heard from him, "It is a Calming Draught."

Chris did not say a word in response; his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but the tears were seeping from behind the closed lids in spite of his efforts to contain them. Snape pressed the vial into his hands, and he raised it to his lips and drank it in a single gulp. A moment later, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he let out a sigh of relief as the Potions effects washed over him, dulling the edge of the pain and allowing him to regain control of his physiological reactions. He opened his eyes, rose and stumbled half-blindly to the nearest chair, feeling shaky and slightly weak. His head was aching fiercely, but since he had already taken three vials of Pain Relieving Potions since the morning, he thought it best not to tempt fate and take another. He suspected that he was already getting addicted to the Potion, and the last thing he wanted to do was add to that. He reached up and scrubbed the tears away from his face, his face heating slightly in embarrassment.

"Well that was fun," He ground out, "_Please_ tell me it'll be the last time."

"I am afraid I can't," said Snape, "I only looked at your memories today, but the real problem is all the others in your head. We will have to look at those and find a way to block them out." In fact, they could have gone entirely without looking at Chris's mind in the first place- the logical thing to do would have been to start with the minds of the others. That part had been personal, his way of getting even with Chris's power over him. It made him feel a bit guilty now, but he knew that if he hadn't seen Chris so intimately, he would never have been successful at teaching him Occulemency. His resentment would have gotten in the way. He could not disown the suspiciousness that made up such a large part of his nature; it was what had kept him alive for so many years.

Chris nodded once and then stood up, his eyes full of determination and apprehension. "Let's get to it then," He said tightly.

Snape eyed him and then shook his head. "No. You are in no shape to continue this right now."

"But-"

Snape held up a hand. "Ordinarily I would not make such allowances, but this is completely new territory even for me. If we are not very careful the consequences will be dire."

"Nice try, but I can feel your concern," Chris said flatly; hoping to goad the taciturn man into taking the lesson by irritating him by this reminder that he could read him so intimately.

"Then you should also be able to feel my resolve on this point," Snape replied evenly, without missing a beat.

"We don't have any time to waste- oh why am I even bothering?" Chris cut himself off, frustrated.

"That is precisely what I was wondering." He sat down at his desk and began to ruffle through his papers in an obvious dismissal.

"Tomorrow, same time, same place?" Chris asked, sighing.

"Yes, indeed. I expect punctuality," He added, rather unnecessarily. Chris knew him quite well enough for that to go unstated; besides, the young man was himself so anxious about this that he'd probably be here early. So why had he felt the need to say it, he wondered? But Chris, with his empathic powers, knew at once.

The young man smiled slightly, understanding that it was a substitute for what Snape couldn't say. "I'll be here on time, and in one piece. Don't worry."

---

Harry knocked on Chris's bedroom door, and when there was no answer, pushed the door open. Chris was sitting on the floor leaning against the bed, his shoulders hunched and his gaze downcast.

"Hey," Harry said in greeting, "I came to see how you were doing after your first Occulemency lesson. I know it can be...difficult."

"I'm fine," Chris said, without looking up.

"No you're not," Harry said. "Your voice- it's hoarse." Anger accompanied comprehension. "He made you relive your worst memories, didn't he? To get even with you for the power he held over you. That's why your voice sounds like that again. I'm going to _kill _him. After everything you've been through-"

"No, Mr. Potter, please don't," Chris said, raising a placating hand, "You don't get it, please don't go and confront him and make things worse. I'm fine."

"You very clearly are not," Harry said, with anger that refused to be killed. Chris's face might be as impervious as ever, but his voice gave him away. He shook his head, disgusted. "This is so typical of him, to make you relive all that and then just leave you to deal with it by yourself. He's just so _selfish_ sometimes-"

"He didn't just leave me," Chris protested, "He gave me a Calming Draught immediately after, and it helped for awhile, but the effect is fading now." _And you aren't exactly helping matters, either. _His eyes couldn't help but add.

Harry sighed, and sat down on the bed, running a hand through his unruly head. "I'm sorry. I'm just concerned."

"And I appreciate that. I really do. But you don't get it- you don't get _him._ I do. I never asked for these powers, but they force me to understand my charges, even when it would be so much easier on me not to. And even without the powers, I'd understand the kind of constant, universal suspicion a spy needs to have in order to survive. Bianca was only a spy for a few years, and she was never able to trust anyone either, without ironclad proof. He's been a spy for _decades._ If he hadn't been able to see my memories, get some sort of equal footing between us, I would never have been able to learn Occulemency from him. Besides, it's going to save me one _hell_ of a headache in the long run."

"I know," Harry said, "I know all that. I just wish you weren't the one who always had to pay the price for other people's insecurities."

"I'm not the only one who pays that price," Chris pointed out, "_You_ pay it too- anyone leading even a few hundred people would have to pay that price. Everyone has insecurities, and it becomes the job of leaders to assuage other peoples as well as deal with our own."

Harry nodded once, looking away. He understood that he, too, had to pay the price that Chris was talking about; that the entire Order had to pay it to some extent. But somehow, Chris always seemed to have to pay a heavier price than the rest of them, and no matter how hard he tried, Harry couldn't protect him.

---

"I've been assessing the best method by which you can set about blocking out all the others in your head," Snape told Chris at their next Occulemency lesson. "And from what I can see, all you feel the thoughts and emotions of the others almost as if they are own. There's almost no difference between their strands and yours. Am I right?"

"Yes," Chris said, "But they don't know I have access to their memories. It's bad enough them knowing I can feel their emotions, but if they know that I could also experience their memories, if I wanted to? They have a hard enough time dealing with my empathic powers as it is. So I figure what they don't know what hurt them."

"You needn't worry, Haliwell, I'm not going to tell anyone," Snape said.

"Not worried. Just thought I'd let you know so it wouldn't slip out by mistake." Chris changed the subject, "So did you think of a way for me to block them out?"

"As a matter of fact, I think the standard approach might actually work. Given that their strands are experienced by you as if they're your own, using the standard methods should work, at least theoretically. These methods have been used to block out people's memories, so that they can calm themselves. I'm fairly confident it would work in this case as well."

"Hit me with it, then." Chris said.

"Close your eyes, and try to empty your mind. I see you've already learnt some breathing exercises and meditative techniques," He added a moment later when Chris's breathing deepened and evened out almost instinctively.

"Meditation and breathing exercises were the only things that worked to take the edge off the pain, back at the Resistance," Chris said without opening his eyes. "I didn't really have access to pain relievers, like I do here."

Snape imagined having eight thousand people in your head without any pain relief and shuddered inwardly. He wondered how the boy had coped with all that pain, especially in the beginning when he was unaccustomed to it, without something additional to help him. Chris Haliwell was clearly made up of sterner stuff than most people would give him credit for. "Have you cleared your mind?" He asked.

"Yeah. I think so. But I can still feel them, and my head still hurts."

"Can you feel where they are?"

"In my brain?" Chris asked incredulously, his eyes flying open.

"No, in your mind, Haliwell. There is a world of difference between the brain and the mind. You have to have a mental map of your own mind, some way of picturing your thought processes, if this is going to work."

"Okay...I guess I can kind of feel where they are. I think."

"Alright. Good. Now I need you to picture a barrier around that area of your mental map."

"Seriously? A wall? Isn't that a bit clichéd?"

"I don't make the rules, Haliwell," Snape said sharply, "Now, if you'll be so kind as to concentrate."

"Okay, okay...I'm concentrating."

"Is the barrier up? It should be strong enough so that it won't break if I try to breach it using Legilimency."

"Yeah, it's up...and oh, my God, this feels amazing. It's like...almost half the headache is gone." Chris opened his eyes, elated. "This is really awesome, sir!"

"Do not start celebrating yet. I need you to take down the barrier."

"What? Why?"

"You can't just keep it there forever, Haliwell. It'll break sooner or later. You're only a beginner. If you overextend yourself, the consequences will be extremely unpleasant."

"Alright, alright," Chris grumbled. "I'm taking it down."

But it felt _so good _to not be in pain after so many months...he shook the thought off, closed his eyes and pulled down the imaginary wall. The next thing he knew, he felt a sharp, bursting pain, as though he'd been shot in the head, and an instant later, the world dissolved in darkness.

---

"It was hardly intentional, Potter! I do not appreciate your accusatory tone!"

"He could have died! He is your responsibility, and you-"

"I am very well aware of that, Potter. I was in completely new territory, because there has never been any such precedent to Haliwell's case. I warned him not to overextend himself."

"_Overextend himself!_ Well that's just brilliant, isn't it. You just had to be so vague. Instead of telling him exactly what he was supposed to do!"

"I told him to pull down the barrier, and I thought he would have enough common sense not to take it down so quickly. It is not my fault if he didn't!"

"For the love of God, would you two quit shouting," Chris groaned, reaching up to massage his heads with his hands, which was pounding fiercely. "Why is it that every time I wake up here, the first thing I hear is people arguing at the top of their lungs?"

"Chris!" Harry was at his bedside in an instant, the relief evident on his face. "No- don't try to sit up, it'll only make your head worse. How are you feeling?"

"Like a freight train just ran over my head," Chris mumbled. "What happened?" He looked at Snape, and even that slight motion of his head caused him pain. He was thankful Harry had prevented him from trying to get up. "How did I end up here?"

"You pulled the barrier down too quickly, and I'm afraid the force of your charges' thoughts and emotions were rather stronger than anticipated. You lost consciousness, and I remembered that Michael was my whitelighter and called him. He healed you before you..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head.

Chris felt the guilt pouring off him, and he paused for a moment, touched. "I should have known not to pull the barrier down so quickly," He said, his eyes full of understanding when they turned towards Snape's. _I don't blame you._ "You warned me that I should be careful- I should have listened." He glanced pointedly at Harry. _It wasn't his fault. I get that you're concerned, but you have to back off._

"Never mind," Harry said, receiving the message loud and clear. "It doesn't matter anymore, anyway."

"I'll be more careful next time."

"What? There won't be a next time!" Harry protested at once.

"Mr. Potter, we can't just give up," Chris said, "The constant pain, even I didn't realize how much it's been draining me. I escaped it for a few moments when I put the barrier up, and I felt so much stronger immediately. It was really amazing. It's an edge we can't afford to lose, Mr. Potter."

"But you nearly died when you pulled down the barrier, and that was after less than a minute of having it up. A battle could last for hours. And then the memories you're blocking will be so tumultuous, so forceful, they'll hit you so hard, you'll probably die instantly when you're forced to pull the barrier down, which you will be. What?" He added at Snape's look of surprise. "I do know _something_ about Occulemency. I was learning from you for months- in all that time, do you think I never had the time to open a few books?" _I learnt more from them than I ever did from our classes. _

"I can teach him how to pull the barrier down slowly. Now that I know a little more, it should not be too difficult. Nothing he can't learn with practice."

"It's still very dangerous, though." Harry was a little disconcerted at how much the idea of putting Chris at risk galled him- it was comparable to how he felt every time Lily demanded to be allowed to join the Order. He knew he wasn't thinking as rationally as he should be, but Chris had almost died! "It will take practice, which means he can't learn it immediately, which means there'll certainly be more repeats of this episode. And one of those times, he might actually die."

"We could put Michael on standby during the lessons," Chris said without missing a beat, though he had to admit that Harry had a point, "He'd be right there in case something happened, and he could heal me." When Harry showed no signs of relenting, he added, "Come on, Mr. Potter. You know I'm integral to this war. I need to be at my best if we're even going to have a chance at winning."

"Fine," Harry sighed, defeated. "But only if Michael or some other whitelighter is present."

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter, I don't have a death-wish."

"And nor do I," Snape said very dryly, causing Harry to colour slightly.

Chris looked from one to the other, and began to chuckle. It was the most heart-warming sound Harry had ever heard.

"And what precisely do you find so funny, Haliwell?" Snape asked with a scowl, but Harry could both tell it was half-hearted at best.

"You two...you are just hilarious, you know that? You keep pretending to hate each other so much, but you would never believe how many similarities there are between you."

"Similarities! I think you might have injured your head rather more seriously than we thought."

"For once, Potter, I am in perfect accord with you."

"See, I'm right! You guys are actually agreeing on something..."

TBC...

Umm... I won't waste your time with lengthy excuses on why I haven't updated in so long. Just, please review and tell me what you think. I know this was a bit of filler, but they can't all be full of action and emotional drama, can they?


	17. You Do What You Have To

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 17: You Do What You Have To

NOTE: Thanks to Warriora for doing a wonderful job beta-reading. You da woman!

...

Chris wearily came to for what had to be the fifth time that day. He took Michael's outstretched hand and let the whitelighter pull him to his feet. "This is ridiculous. How long can I possibly keep this up without sustaining permanent brain damage? This has been going on for weeks!"

Snape glared at him. "If you're quite done whining, then perhaps we can get back to our lesson."

"I'm _not_ whining," Chris groused, "_You_ try freaking getting shot in the head twenty times a day, because that's what this feels like!"

"We do not have time for this," Snape growled, and Chris could feel his frustration, and it only served to irritate him further.

"I know. Geez, I _know._ Why do you think I'm so fed up?" Chris knew he should probably stop ranting, but he had reached the end of his tether. He had no problem with enduring pain, but not when there didn't seem to be any point in it. "This was supposed to be our best option, and it could end up killing me! I can't keep up the barrier for too long because if I do, when I take it down, I'll die from the impact of everyone's thoughts and emotions when they all hit me at once. But if I don't take down the barrier, then I won't be strong enough to fight. Its die if you do, die if you don't! And just practicing how to take down the barrier slowly is _not_ helping..." His voice trailed off as realization hit, "Oh, my God. That's it."

"What?"

"We can't just keep practicing taking down the barrier. It r_eally_ isn't helping, and it really won't help us with the real problem."

"Is there a point somewhere in all this, Haliwell?"

"Don't you _see_, sir?" Chris said, "What we should be doing is figuring out how much time I can hold the barrier without dying when I bring it down, and then little by little, increasing that time frame to as long as possible. You have to teach me how to increase my pain thresholds. "

There was a moment of silence before what Chris was saying sunk in. Then Michael exploded in horrified disbelief. "Are you _insane?_ Seriously, Chris, have you lost your mind? Or are you just plain suicidal- because _that is what this plan of yours sounds like!"_

"Haliwell, you cannot play with death in that way," Snape said, "Potter would have my head my head if I allowed it. And you are far too imperative to this war, and have too many people dependent on you, for you to be able to take such risks with your life."

"It's _because_ I'm so imperative to this war that I need to take this risks," Chris argued, "You don't know how powerful Wyatt is! You've never actually seen him, sir, and Michael, _you__'__re_ a freaking pacifist who's never even been in combat! I am the only person who can go up against him with _half_ a fighting chance, and even at my _best_ I'll most likely lose. And I am _not_ at my best. There are twenty thousand people in my head all the time, and you have no idea how much it drains me." His voice dropped. "During this last year, I've gone into half of our missions running with my magic compromised, basically running on adrenaline- and there's no way I'll be able to survive an altercation with Wyatt like that. Yes, what I'm asking you to do in these lessons _might_ kill me, but going against Wyatt with the thoughts and emotions of twenty thousand people in my head _certainly_ will. And I don't know about you, but I'd take 'might' over 'certainly' any day."

"Chris, what if your luck ran out some day and you actually died?" Michael said, "If you reached a point where even I couldn't heal you? Do you know what that would do to me? You're the last Haliwell left, and-" His voice broke and he turned away abruptly. "I _can__'__t_ watch you die on me," He said, in a low, thick voice. "Not after I lost them all. _Please_ don't do this, Chris."

Chris stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head, pained but resolute. "I'm sorry, Michael. I don't _have_ a choice. I don't want to die, either, but this is just the way it has to be. I intend to take full precautions, though, with at least three whitelighters present at our lessons. You can be one of them, or not. I'm not forcing you to be a part of this, but I'm going to do it."

"You can't do anything unless I agree to teach you, Haliwell," Snape interrupted sharply.

"Come on, sir. We both know that learning to take the barrier down slowly isn't working."

"And we _also_ know that Potter would never allow this."

Chris met his gaze evenly. "Then we don't tell him," He said determinedly, even as he winced inwardly at the idea of keeping secrets from Harry. But he knew the older man would never agree to do this, so really, he told himself, he didn't have a choice.

"Do you realize what you are asking me to do?" Snape asked. His face was as blank as ever but Chris could feel the tumult of his mind beneath. "I report to Potter, not to you. I have been a member of the Order of the Phoenix for _decades- _I cannot lie to its leader. And I don't owe you anything, Haliwell."

For a moment, Chris said nothing, watching Snape intently. "Then would you have me believe that you've never lied to Mr. Potter, sir? Not even once? Are you telling me you don't conceal things from him which he can't do anything about and which would only demoralize him as well as everyone else if they knew? Have you told him exactly what Voldemort plans to do with him if he captures him, for example? Have you told him about the exact conditions at the Ministry of Magic, about how the Death Eaters run it? Have you told him about the innocents he tortures at the meetings?" Chris shook his head slowly, his eyes boring into Snape's. "Maybe you don't owe _me_ anything, but you do owe Mr. Potter, and you do owe the Order, and you owe this war. We _need_ to win this, sir, and this is the only way. The reason that you've stayed alive for so many years is because you _know_- you do what you have to do in order to survive, and you don't think twice about it. Now is_ not_ the time to start thinking twice."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on for an age, but in reality it was only a few minutes. Chris felt it the moment the decision had been made, and Snape knew he would, so he didn't bother to say anything, just nodding once and taking his stance across from Chris and raising his wand. _"__Legilimens!"_ But Chris' barrier was already up, and it withstood the attack.

Snape gave him what could have passed for an approving look. "Hold it for five minutes, not a second more. And then take it down as slowly as you can. Sanders," He turned to Michael. "Fetch two more whitelighters who can be trusted to keep their mouths shut. We don't know how bad this could become, and even though it's only a few minutes, it's better to be safe."

Michael looked at Chris, his face concerned, but resigned. "You're determined to do this."

"I'm sorry, Michael, but yeah, I am. I meant what I said earlier. If this is too much for you-"

"It's not," Michael cut in. He smiled tightly. "You do what you have to, right?"

Chris nodded in acknowledgement, and then closed his eyes briefly as he felt the weight of the burden he had placed on Michael's shoulders overshadow his mind and soul. How he _hated_ doing this to people. "Get Haylie and Carter," He said. "I _really_ am sorry, Michael."

Michael smiled sadly. "I know you are."

And then he orbed out.

...

Days passed slowly. Everyone was busy at work preparing for the final strike against Wyatt. Snape and Jennifer were both hard at work on a variety of Vanquishing Potions. Jennifer had been well taught by the Haliwells, and she had always had a natural gift for Potions, and with her knowledge combined with Snape's, they were making excellent progress. They were helped of course by a number of others, for once they had perfected one Potion, they would immediately move on to the next, handing over the mass production of individual Potions to the student volunteers (Lily Potter among them) and other witches and wizards that Snape deemed gifted enough to be helpful, such as Hermione Granger, Remus Lupin, and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

In the meantime, Draco Malfoy was busy overseeing the process of unlocking the Wiccan magic of a select few witches and wizards who belonged to the oldest Pureblood families. The number was only about ten, because so few of the old Pureblood families were not on the Dark side, and even fewer of these were brave enough to try something that would completely change their magical identities. The real problem was not in unleashing the Wiccan magic bound within these witches and wizards; it was training them to use and control their new powers in such a short time. All the witches and wizards experienced a significant power boost, but Ron and Ginny Weasley, Ernie Macmillian, and Susan Bones were the ones in whom Wiccan powers emerged the strongest, and were therefore the focus of the most intensive training. Malfoy knew what he was doing though, having been through the process himself, and taught them well. He had sense enough not to waste time on antagonizing his former classmates, and except for the occasional hitch, they were getting on well enough.

Chris, in between the intensive Occulemency lessons in which he nearly died on an average of four or five times a day (a new low even for him), was in charge of the research on how to combine Wiccan as well as the wand magic of the lower-level witches, and was coming up with some interesting results. He, too, was working closely with the ten people able to use both forms of magic, training them to do things neither Voldemort nor Wyatt would ever have heard off. For the first time in a long time, things were going well.

But not for Chris. The memories he had relived when Snape had entered his mind during that first Occulemency lesson had brought back to the surface the deaths of his family. And everyday, he would reach a point when Snape was able to breach his mental barriers with Legilimency and he would be assaulted by the memories again. Granted, he was slowly learning to hold the barrier up for longer and longer periods of time while under attack from Snape. But that didn't change the fact that he had to watch his brother torturing and killing his family every single day. He did what he always did, of course: pushed the memories as far back as they would go; and put on his mask, and threw himself into work and research and doing what needed to be done.

Thankfully, because of the Dreamless Sleep Potion, he was at least able to sleep properly at night. But Harry had warned him it was addictive, and Chris was slowly finding out that he was right. Now he couldn't sleep without it, and he had to keep taking more and more of it for it to be effective. But he'd read up on it, and he knew it wouldn't do any permanent damage to him. And in any case, he couldn't_ afford_ to have his sleep interrupted by nightmares of his family's deaths, or him killing his brother in various gruesome ways. He needed to keep his strength up. He'd deal with the adduiction (addiction) later, after all this was over. He had dealt with a lot worse, he reasoned with himself, but the whole thing troubled him. The way he was starting to _crave _the Potion was starting to make him feel like a junkie. _And_ he had to keep stealing it from Madam Pomefry's stores because he knew she would never give it to him as frequently as he needed it, and the subterfuge was making him feel even worse.

He knew Harry was worried about him. He could feel his concern, but he could also feel his hesitation to come forward and talk to him about whatever was bothering him. Chris wasn't exactly the caring and sharing the type- everyone knew that. He had opened up to Harry once, during the breakdown the man had forced him into, but it wasn't something he wanted to make a habit of. His mask was everything, and he depended on it because he wouldn't be able to lead the Resistance and fight Wyatt without it. So he kept his emotions on a tight leash, and kept his distance from Harry Potter, even though he knew how much it hurt the older man. Even though it was hurting _him._ He didn't have a choice, really.

_You do what you have to._

…

It was the fourth Order meeting since Chris had come to Hogwarts, two months away from when they had planned the confrontation.

"The next item on the agenda is logistics," Harry was saying, "Where do we want to have this battle? There are a few options. We could have it in the grounds, Hogwarts is practically a fortress."

"No," Chris interrupted, shaking his head; "Hogwarts is our safe haven. Bringing two Dark Lords and all their followers here will turn it into a freaking death trap. There are way too many innocents here."

"Then where do you think we should have it?" Harry asked.

"Outside one of our Resistance safe houses- SH-5." He rose, and produced a map, which Malfoy wandlessly enlarged and suspended in mid-air. "Look. Almost all of these buildings have been razed to the ground. It's this huge expanse of ash and debris- it looks like a battlefield already. SH-5 is right in the centre of it- it's a very strategic location. All we'll have to do is bury four crystals around it that are blessed by me, and it will be as secure as Hogwarts. We can move all our supplies and our ammo there once it's secure, that won't be a problem. It's large enough to house our fighters. The innocents will stay here. The whitelighters can be on standby to heal people. Everyone on our side is my charge, so all the people who need to get in and out of there will be able to. We'll be fighting them on our own turf, and we'll be able to retreat pretty easily if things go wrong."

"You've thought about this quite a bit, haven't you," Harry stated. His tone was perfectly even, but Chris could read the _'__why the hell didn__'__t you discuss it with me?__'_ behind it loud and clear, and he suppressed a wince as his headache spiked a little.

"Yes," He said, "I have."

Harry gave him a piercing look which made Chris squirm because of how much it reminded him of Piper, and then turned to the rest of the room. "It looks like a perfect location. What do you all think?" There were murmurs of agreement from all around- even Moody looked approving. "Well, that's settled, then. Now we have to decide how to summon Wyatt and Voldemort. We talked about this during the last meeting. Snape, have you made any progress?"

"Yes," Snape said, rising. "Miss Raymonds has assisted me in developing a Potion which will transport the person who consumes it to wherever Lord Wyatt is at a particular time. There's not much of it, but enough for him or her to deliver a message."

"No. No way." Chris was on his feet almost before Snape had finished, shaking his head vehemently. "That is _not_ an option. He'll torture and _kill_ the messenger. There's no way we can sacrifice someone like that. And besides, there are a _million_ wards around Wyatt's lair, not even a Power of Three Potion would be able to breach it. What is in this Potion that-?"

"This Potion has one thing that a Power of Three Potion doesn't," Jennifer said.

"What?"

"A lock of Wyatt's hair, from when he was good."

Chris stared at her. "How on earth did you get a hold of a lock of Wyatt's _hair?"_

She shrugged. "It was among the relics we were able to save from Magic School. Someone must have clipped it off at some point- you know how many people from Magic School have been in the Haliwell Manor over the years. He was the Twice Blessed, after all…"

"Right." That didn't surprise him at all; his family had been legendary in Magic School from even before Wyatt and his birth. "But we still can't use it."

"I agree," Harry said. "You'll just have to keep trying till you're able to find some other way Snape. Sacrificing someone in that way is _not _an option."

"Of course, Potter, I'll do my utmost," Snape said dryly, eliciting some laughter, but there was no real heat to his words. Chris could easily sense that Snape wasn't very eager to sacrifice one of their men, either. In fact, the only one who seemed to have really considered the Potion a viable option was, surprisingly enough, Jennifer. He could feel her disappointment about the option being shot down by everyone like it had been. The sentiment was so out of character that he immediately resolved to talk to her about it later. Since when was Jennifer okay with sacrificing people?

…

"Hey, Jen. We haven't really talked in awhile. How's it going?"

"Cut to the chase, Chris."

Chris grimaced. Damn Jennifer for knowing him so well. "Well, here's the thing," He said. "Yesterday, during the Order meeting, you seemed to be really disappointed when everyone shot down the idea of using your Potion. Why do you think it's the only option we have? Do you honestly _want_ to sacrifice someone?"

Guilt suddenly blossomed within Jennifer, and Chris sensed it immediately, and frowned. "No, of course not!" She said, "But it _is_ the only option we have, and we're two months away from the final battle. So you do what you have to, right?" For some reason, she was refusing to meet his eyes.

"No," He shook his head emphatically, hardly able to believe his ears. Was she really using _that_ line, to justify something like _this?_ "Not if it costs you your humanity- your morals. It's not just about surviving, Jenny. I'd rather _not_ survive if I had to give my charges' lives to do it- but if I had to sacrifice myself to save those innocents? _Then _I'd do what I had to, and give my life in a heartbeat. But never the other way around, Jen. _Never._ I thought you knew that."

"I do know that," She said softly, and he had a feeling that she was talking more to herself than to him. Suddenly, he felt as though an immeasurable distance had opened up between them.

"Jennifer, what…?"

"Nothing," She said, shaking the reverie off and looking at him. "You're a great friend Chris."

"Because I managed to talk some sense into you?" He asked, half-joking, but there was an edge to his words that Jennifer pretended not to notice. There was something not right about this, something not right about the guilt that was still rolling off his friend in waves. If she was so guilty at the thought of using the Potion, then why had she been disappointed when the idea was shot down? She should have been relieved.

"Yeah. Exactly." She grinned at him. "Want to go see Hope? I haven't seen her in a couple of days…"

"Yeah, sure."

As they walked the short distance to the nursery, Chris was unable to shake the feeling that there was something terribly wrong.

…

TBC…

So, I have only a few more chapters (like, five or six) left before the end of this story. I've decided to thank you guys for waiting so patiently for me to update (we all know how irregular I've been since I began this over a year ago- yes, it's already been a year!) by not writing anything for my LOTR fanfic until I get done with this. In other words, I'll be updating much more frequently, and be focusing completely on this story until it's done. I hope that will induce you to forgive me for disappearing off the face of the earth since February!

IN OTHER NEWS: Warriora and I are co-writing a fanfic together, a Charmed/Supernatural crossover set in Season 6 Charmed and Season 3 Supernatural. It stars Chris and Sam, and has all the anst you could expect, with the both of us writing it. If any of you are Supernatural fans as well as Chriss-a-holics, you can go look for it. It's titled "Lonely Light of Morning," and you can find it at our joint profile, under the pen-name "Stoneage Woman and Warriora." Please do check it out and tell us what you thought.

Thank you all so much, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review!


	18. Jennifer

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 18: Jennifer

THANKS TO: Warriora for beta-reading and picking up all my typos. Don't know what I'd do without you.

WARNING: This chapter contains implied rape and some graphic violence. Although, if you were me, that would probably be an incentive, because of the angst it promises. But then, I'm insane…

NOTE: Let's pause for a moment of silence to honor the memory of the victims of the7 blasts that took place on the 13th of May in Jaipur. Terrorism is threatening to tear our world apart, and no place is safe anymore. As someone who has family members living in Jaipur (thankfully, none of them were hurt), and who is going to be moving there in a year's time, this attack has hit very close to home. I ask you all to honor the memories of those who died, as well as their families.

…

As the days passed, Chris's conviction that something was wrong with Jennifer only grew stronger. She had grown quiet, withdrawn, and divided her time between the dungeon (where she and Snape worked on Potions) and the nursery, where she would hold Hope and talk to her. It wasn't unusual for Jennifer to spend time with Hope, but it _was_ unusual for her to be spending this much time. Something weird was going on with her, and if he had been less preoccupied he would have made it his business to find out what. But he was just too busy. What with nearly dying a few times everyday, helping with the intensive training of the ten people Malfoy was in charge of, grappling with his growing addiction to the Dreamless Sleep Potion, and planning combat strategies and battle tactics with the Order, his days were full from the second he woke to the second he went to sleep.

One morning, he went to the nursery see Hope and he found Jennifer there already. To his surprise and concern, she was crying and hugging Hope tightly to her. "Hey…Jennifer? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," She said, brushing tears away from her face. "She just…she said her first word."

"She did?" Chris asked. For a moment he was quietly stunned, and then the joy and pride registered.

"Dad," She said, trying to smile, "She said 'dad.'"

He frowned slightly at her less than joyful expression, but then remembered that Hope always reminded Jennifer of the baby she and Wyatt had lost. Watching the child she had at one point hoped to _raise _with his brother calling Chris 'Dad' had to be a bittersweet experience at best. Wordlessly, he stretched his arms out, and Jennifer placed Hope in them, and then the joy and excitement drowned out all concern. "Hope, sweetie? I'm your Daddy. Say 'dad' for me? Please?"

"Dad," The girl gurgled happily, snuggling into him, and he closed his eyes briefly as the joy threatened to become too much. It had been a long time since anything had made him this happy. "I was getting really worried," He said to Jennifer, feeling as though a load had been lifted from his heart. "She's one and a half years old. Her first word should have been _months_ ago."

This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, but that had been before they had had that huge falling out from which they were not yet fully recovered. Chris sometimes thought they never would be- they had just kept too much from each other, and now they were paying the price for it. "She's been through a lot," Jennifer said. "She's lost most of the people she became close to." It was just the nature of this war. They had both seen a lot of children who were too traumatized to speak, even at the age of three, or four. Children who had lost _both_ their parents. "At least she still has you."

"I'm so afraid that she'll lose me too," Chris admitted softly. It felt good to be talking to Jennifer again. Maybe, in time, their friendship _would_ recover. "I'm so afraid of what that might do to her. I'm glad she'll still have you, at least."

He smiled at her, but she didn't smile back. "Yeah," She said, her eyes distant and sad. "She'll still have me."

He could tell that she was getting upset, so he changed the subject. "How is the Potion coming along? Are you and Professor Snape making any progress?'

"We're trying, but nothing seems to be working." The contradictory elation he sensed from her made him frown.

"You have to try harder," He said, a bit more sharply than he had intended.

She pretended not to notice. "This might be the only way, Chris. You have to be prepared for that. The confrontation is six weeks away…"

"I am _not_ sacrificing anyone," Chris said adamantly, "If we have to delay the date of the final battle, I'm even willing to do that, but I'm _not_ going to give someone up to be tortured and killed by Wyatt."

"Maybe you won't have a choice," Jennifer muttered.

Chris stared at her. There was something about the way she had said it that sent chills over him. Was his friend really ruthless enough to be okay with sacrificing someone? Again, he was assaulted with the feeling that he was missing something important.

…

"Well, I still think we should spread Ian and the others out. It makes no sense to put them to-" And then Chris froze, paling dramatically. _"Oh, God."_

Harry looked up from the map he was poring over, immediately concerned by the expression on his face. "Chris, what's wrong?"

Chris didn't reply. "No, no, no…tell me you weren't that _stupid…" _He muttered under his breath, ashen-faced.

"Chris, take a breath, okay?" Adrian said sharply, walking over to him and gripping him by the shoulders. "What happened?

"Jennifer, she just disappeared from my radar," Chris said, his voice shaking. He raised fear-filled eyes to Adrian's. "I think she used the Potion. I think she's gone to deliver the message to Wyatt."

Murmurs of alarm and denial began to fill the room as Adrian paled. "No, she wouldn't do that," He said, but his voice didn't even sound convincing to his own ears.

"Damn it," Chris swore, turning away from Adrian and the rest of the Resistance. "Damn it, I should have seen this coming." He orbed out, leaving a stunned silence behind him.

Harry was the first to react. "Where did he go?"

"To the dungeons," Adrian replied, after closing his eyes and sensing for him.

Harry felt a small amount of relief at the fact that Chris had not tried to orb out of Hogwarts to San Francisco. _Not yet, anyway._ The thought made him grab Adrian's arm.

"Let's go."

…

"Where is she?" Chris shouted, not even caring that Snape had him at wandpoint because of how he'd startled the man by orbing so close to him.

Snape lowered the wand. "Haliwell, what-?"

"Where's Jennifer?" Chris shouted, his voice laced with panic. "She was supposed to be here, where is she?"

"She said she was going to her room to-"

But Chris didn't hear the rest of it; he was already orbing away. He reformed right outside Jennifer's bedroom, tried the door, and when he found it locked, didn't hesitate a moment before sending a wave of telekinetic force at it. It fell open and hit the wall with a loud bang. He strode into the room and stopped short when he saw a letter lying on her pillow, addressed to him. His knees almost buckled, his worst fears were confirmed. Numbly, he unfolded the letter with trembling hands, already half-knowing what he would find in it.

_Dear Chris,_

_You've probably already figured out that I used the Potion to deliver the message to Wyatt. I know I promised I'd be there for Hope, and that I'd take care of her if something happened to you. But when I made that Potion, I knew that this was what I was meant to do. I'm so sorry, because I know how much this will hurt you and Hope. But the truth is, once I found out that Wyatt had raped Emma and tortured and killed your whole family, the hope I had been clinging to, that he could be turned back to good, died out, and I didn't know what to do._

_I've always loved Wyatt and I know that the old him would always have loved me. If there's some part of him left inside that monster, maybe he won't kill me. But I'm going into this with my eyes open. He probably will kill me. I can't think of any other way I'd prefer to die. If I can't save him, then I want to help you stop him. And as a mortal, I can't do that, except by doing what I'm about to do. _

_You've always been like family to me, and I want to apologize to you for how jealous I was of you and Hope, and for what a hard time I gave you. You didn't deserve that from me. Always remember that you and Hope are the only things about this awful place that I'll regret leaving behind. I love you both._

_Your friend,_

_Jennifer._

Trembling slightly, Chris raised his eyes to Harry, Adrian and Snape, who had all orbed in a few moments ago, and had gone completely still when they saw the letter in the hands. "She's really gone," He said, and his voice echoed in his ears as if he was listening to himself from a distance. "She's really…"

"I am so sorry, Chris," Adrian said. There were tears in his eyes.

"I should have seen this coming," Chris said numbly, guilt and self-loathing curling like vices around his heart. "I've known that something was up with her for _weeks…_"

"Hey. You can't blame yourself for this, Chris. There's no way you could have seen this coming-"

"But I could have," Chris interrupted, "I should have. She's one of my charges."

None of them could think of anything to say to that. Harry put a gentle hand on Chris's shoulder. "Come on. We have to call an Order meeting. And you should call some members of the Resistance, too."

"What's the point?" Chris said harshly, his eyes identical pools of guilt and anguish. "She's already dead."

…

The minutes stretched on for hours, and every hour was one more hour that Jennifer was probably being tortured by Wyatt. The Order and the Resistance waited, and those who were familiar with Wyatt's ways tried their hardest not to imagine what he was doing to her, but it became harder and harder as the minutes crawled by. Chris sat mutely on a chair in the corner of the room, his eyes locked on the wall opposite him. He hadn't moved at all since he had sat down. No one had been able to bring themselves to say anything to him, because, really what could they have said? All they could do was sit there and wait.

It was four hours after Jennifer had gone missing that the silence was broken by a half-strangled shout from Chris. The younger man was on his feet. Before him stood what could only be a holographic image- a tall, blonde-haired man with icy blue eyes, dressed in imposing black, and carrying a sword in his hand. And near the man's feet, as part of the same image, was the bloodied figure of Jennifer, whimpering softly in pain. Chris's stomach clenched when he saw that she was completely naked.

"Wyatt…" The pained whisper escaped before he realized it was an image.

"Hello, Chris," Wyatt said, smirking. "So you've finally decided to take me on, have you? How on earth did you manage to grow that much backbone?" Snickering, he dragged the tip of the sword over Jennifer's stomach, and then began to push down slowly. Jennifer let out a loud groan, but appeared to be too spent to do much else. "Although I really must thank you for your choice of messenger. I did so …enjoy her."

The image of Wyatt paused, as though waiting for the implications to sink in. And it really didn't take a genius to figure out what he meant given the blood dripping down Jennifer's legs, and the fact that she was naked. "You _bastard_," Chris said, his mind taking him back to another night, another woman, lying just like that, with blood dripping from between her legs and Wyatt's laughter echoing in the air. He choked slightly. "You fucking _bastard."_

"Language, Christopher," said the hologram calmly, even as his smirk growing wider. It was almost as if he was really there, talking to Chris. "What would our mother say? Now, where was I? Right, you wanted to confront me head on, and I was debating whether or not to humor you. Personally, I'm a little concerned for your sanity, Chris. Because you _can't _be in your right mind if you want to go one on one with me. Don't you remember what happened the last time you tried that?" He lifted the sword and suddenly brought it down hard on one of Jennifer's fingers, severing it from her hand. Jennifer arched, letting out a shrill, pain-filled scream. Fresh tears streamed down her bruised cheeks.

Chris moaned as though in physical pain, his fists clenching, tears spilling down his own cheeks. _God, not again_, He thought in silent agony._ I can't watch this again. _

Wyatt coolly wiped his sword on his jeans. "If you thought I would spare Jennifer because she was once my girlfriend, then you're stupider than I thought. I've got a reputation to preserve, after all." He looked down at the figure at his feet with a wistful expression. "It's almost a pity. I would so have liked to keep her for awhile, have a little more fun."

"No! Wyatt, please!" Chris shouted desperately, tears raining down his cheeks as he realized he was about to kill her. _"Please…"_

But of course, Wyatt didn't hear him. He raised the sword, but paused, contemplating it with an expression that might have passed for affection on anyone else's face. "You should be flattered that I'm using Excalibur to kill her, a mere mortal. You know I only use Excalibur for the important kills. But she _is_ your messenger, so…" He shrugged and raised the sword above his head.

A sob broke from Chris's lips, and he slid to his knees, although he _knew_ that that Wyatt couldn't possibly hear or see him, and that this had probably happened, and that Jennifer was already dead. "Please, Wyatt. I'm begging you on my fucking knees. _Please._"

Wyatt leaned forward, so that his face was directly over Jennifer's. She flinched back weakly, fear and pain reflected in her eyes, and he laughed, cold and harsh and cruel. "Sayonara, _sweetheart_," He said mockingly. "I'll miss you." And then he brought the sword down on her neck, separating her head from her body in one swift movement.

Chris cried out in denial and pain.

"I suppose I'll be seeing you a month from now, outside your ridiculous excuse for a safe-house," Wyatt said casually. "I must admit, I'm very curious as to what you think you can do to stop me. And anyway-" and here his voice turned menacing- "You've been a thorn in my side for far too long. Perhaps it _is_ time we end this, once and for all." Amusement colored his tone again. "I just can't believe that _you _were stupid enough to be the one to throw down the gauntlet." He saluted Chris mockingly. "So long, Chris. May the most powerful witch win."

And with that, the hologram blinked out of existence. For several minutes, nobody spoke or moved. Then Harry stepped forward. "Chris…"

Chris took one look at the older man's concerned, helpless expression, and then his own face crumpled and he orbed out of the room without a word.

…

Lily Potter was worried. None of the high-level Order or Resistance members had been in the Great Hall for lunch, and as far as she knew, there wasn't even a meeting scheduled. Lily knew from experience that that spelt bad things. The whispers and the rumors weren't helping her mood much either; something had clearly happened that morning, and Lily would bet her life that it wasn't anything good. Even more worryingly, that morning she had gone to look for Jennifer hoping to get her mind off things by doing something constructive; and she hadn't been able to find her. And the young woman hadn't even left a list of Potions for Lily to make or ingredients to find as she normally did in case she was called away for a meeting. Which meant she had left for the in a hurry- and that confirmed Lily's suspicions that today's meeting was an unscheduled one. To distract herself, she did what she always did when she was in a bad mood, and went to the nursery to look at the babies.

She gave Charlie a quick greeting and walked over to one of the cradles. "Hi, sweetheart."

The baby, Randy, gurgled, and she made one of her funniest faces and crooned at him to make him laugh.

But Lily couldn't help thinking about what always happened when there was an unscheduled Order meeting. Her Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, her cousin Sirius, and her mother Ginny, and so many others whom she knew and loved, disappeared for weeks on end, on some kind of dangerous mission that she wasn't allowed to know anything about. And invariably, fewer returned than the number that had been sent in the first place. Her father walked around like an automaton during those times, worry and helplessness almost crippling him. Lily knew how much he wished he could be out there fighting with his friends, but he was too important to the war for the Order to risk like that.

The thought did not give her much comfort. After all, he was the one who would have to go up against Voldemort in the end, and the odds of his surviving the battle had never been very favorable. Everyone's hopes had been pinned on a stupid self-fulfilling prophecy instead. She didn't know if anyone else realized it, but if Snape had never heard Trelawney making the prophecy and reported it to Voldemort, her father would never have been marked out by the Dark Lord as his rival, much less his equal. The only reason the prophecy had come true was because it had been made in the first place, she thought in irritation.

She had long ago had to reconcile herself to the fact that the odds were against her father surviving this war. She knew that if Harry died, then the Order would still have to pull together and fight. She knew they wouldn't have the luxury for breakdowns, then, and would have to soldier on somehow. And that would be harder than anything she had ever had to face, and she'd had to think about _that_, too. She'd had to think about what would happen if both her parents died (much as the prospect terrified her) and whether she'd be ready when the Order inevitably looked to _her_, the last surviving Potter, for leadership. Her father thought he had been able to protect her from having to think about these things, but she wasn't stupid. She had read the books, and she had heard Order members talking sometimes and she knew the situation with Voldemort did not look good, especially with Lord Wyatt thrown in the mix. Everyone was pinning their hopes on Chris now.

At the thought of Chris, she felt her heart flutter pleasantly. She frowned, annoyed with herself. She couldn't believe that she'd actually been stupid enough to develop a crush on Chris Haliwell. He was idolized by _everyone!_ It was like the girls in her class who had a crush on Harry Potter, or the guys who had crushes on her because she was Harry Potter's daughter. Her attraction to Chris made her despise herself, because she felt like a silly little schoolgirl. But it was more than the fact that he was a hero. He had been the first person to really be able to understand her desire to join the Order, though in all fairness, that was thanks to his empathy power and not his perceptive abilities. And he had taken time to talk to her and help her with her problems, even though they were so small and petty compared to his- compared to _anyone's._ But, the man had only recently lost his fiancée in the worst way imaginable. So he was off the table for a few years at least…

She caught herself and scowled. _Off the table?! He's not some kind of dish, Lily Potter! Get a hold of yourself! _

The very next second, Chris himself appeared in the room, and she blushed hard, fearing for one wild moment that he had come to confront her about her infatuation for him. It was always so mortifying to think that he could read her emotions and probably knew she had feelings for him. But the embarrassment instantly turned to concern when she noted his wild-eyed look and tear-stained face. Charlie, too, looked at him in concerned.

"Chris, what's wrong?" He asked.

Chris ignored them both. He brushed past her and picked up Hope, and cradled her to him tightly, and then orbed away, though not before she saw fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.

She found her voice. "What the hell happened?"

Charlie, of course, didn't have any answers, but a moment later, Adrian orbed into the room, bringing Harry with him. "Where's Chris?" Adrian asked, looking around frantically, "I know he was here a moment ago."

"He took Hope and orbed out," Lily answered. She turned to her father. "What's wrong, Dad? What happened?"

"I can't sense him. He's blocking me."

Harry swallowed hard. "Jennifer's dead."

_"What?_ How?" Lily did not like the haunted look in her father's eyes at all.

"I'm not really sure how much I can tell you right now, Lily."

"Let me guess- it's classified Order information?" She asked, trying and failing to conceal her irritation.

"We'll make an announcement soon, and then you'll know more," Her father said apologetically. "I probably shouldn't even told you this much. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"It's okay, Dad," She said, sighing, knowing he was only trying to protect her, knowing that this was not the time to throw a tantrum about being left out of the information loop. Someone was _dead._ She just couldn't understand how it could have happened now, when they were so well-protected by Chris's wards, and when _no one_ had been sent on any missions for months. Things had been going so well. What the hell had happened?

…

Even as he reformed, Chris's knees buckled and he sank to the floor of the unused classroom. Hope was still clutched tightly in his arms, and for a moment he just sat on the floor holding her, gasping softly as the horrific images assaulted his mind again. He felt Adrian's worry for him and blocked him at once. He didn't want to be found like this.

"Jen?"

Chris looked down at Hope in shock. "What?"

"Jen-fer."

_Her second word._

"Oh, God."

Harsh sobs escaped him, the kind that provided no relief, and only made his chest burn and ache all the more fiercely. He should have seen this coming. He should have known that she hadn't been upset over Hope, that the real reason she'd been so sad and had spent so much time with the little girl was because she was already preparing to say goodbye. She had been planning this for months, he realized numbly as he looked back over the past few weeks. For months, and he hadn't seen it. How could he have been so blind?

He let himself cry for five minutes. Then, he resolutely wiped the tears away, locked away the emotions deep within himself, struggled to get the hitched breaths under control. He orbed to the nursery, and placed Hope back in her cradle. Glanced at his watch. He was already five minutes late for his next Occulemency lesson. He took a deep breath and orbed to Snape's office, his mask firmly in place over his face. He was never going to let it slip again until this was over. He didn't have time for grief.

He had work to do.

…

TBC…

Thank you guys for reviewing the last chapter, all though I seem to have lost a few of you since my last update. Oh, well, I have only myself to blame I guess, for being so slow with my updates. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Tell me honestly, how many of you saw this coming?


	19. On the Eve of Battle

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 19: On the Eve of Battle

THANK YOU to Warriora, for rooting out all my typos and silly mistakes, as always. I'd die without you…

…

For the second time that day, the sound of orbs had Snape nearly jumping out of his skin and reaching for his wand. "Haliwell, what on earth are you doing here?"

To Snape's disbelief, Chris's brow furrowed in honest confusion. "Don't I have an Occulemency lesson, sir?"

Snape looked at him, discomfited by his blank, emotionless expression after seeing him sobbing on his knees before a holographic image of his brother a mere half an hour ago. "Haliwell, you're deranged if you think I am giving you an Occulemency lesson _today._ Potter would have my head if he got wind of it, and frankly, I don't think it's a very good idea myself. And speaking of Potter, you'd better go and find him. He's been looking everywhere for you."

 "But I'm _ready_ to have the lesson now," Chris protested, ignoring the second part completely. "I'm not going to fall apart."

"As your teacher, you'll agree that _I_ have the right to judge that."

There was a pause, and then Chris said with a sudden desperation that took Snape aback, "We don't have time for this! The final battle is a month from now- and I've only been able to hold the barrier up for two hours without its killing me. I need to get it up to three at the least- there's no way the battle will last less than that."

Snape just watched him for a moment. "You wish to block it out, don't you?" He said in sudden realization. He narrowed his eyes. "This has nothing to do with the battle. Your emotions are overwhelming you, and you wish to block them out."

"No," Chris said firmly, "That's not it at all. This really _is_ about the battle. I _need_ to be prepared for it. You know that."

Snape looked intently at him, and was chilled to realize that the young man was telling the truth. He didn't want the Occulemency lesson to block out his emotions because he had already done that himself.  He had locked away his emotions so deep inside himself that he could no longer feel them. And Snape knew a thing or two about locking away one's emotions- he had done it himself and had lived to regret it. There was no telling when the suppressed emotions could burst forth, completely out of Chris's control. He had seen it happen to Potter when he had refused to let himself grieve after Regulus and the Weasleys' deaths. The inevitable breakdown had been so badly timed that the Order still bore the scars from it, and the only reason Potter had been able to recover at all was the support of his wife and his best friends.

Which, Snape was very well aware, Chris _didn't _have, because his fiancée and his family were all _dead._ He would have once thought Harry would have been able and willing to provide that support, but he had seen the distance that had grown between them in recent months. Snape didn't think Chris would go to Harry now. Snape knew that a breakdown was inevitable in Chris's case- he had simply been through too much. If he aided Chris in his attempts to throw himself into the battle by giving him the Occulemency lesson he wanted, it would keep the breakdown at bay at least for awhile, but when his grief eventually caught up with him, it would hit the boy twice as hard. He sighed, knowing there wasn't really a decision to be made here. Chris couldn't afford a breakdown now, not when he had no one to turn to for comfort. Better to help him clamp down on his emotions so that he could go into this battle strong and at his best. If they won, there would be time enough for falling apart, and if they lost, it would not matter either way. The thought crossed his mind that Potter was really going to _annihilate _him when all this was over.

"Alright," He said, sharply, annoyed at being defeated. "Put the barrier up. And no Legilimency today." The last thing they needed was for Chris to relive Jennifer's death again. "And call your whitelighter cohorts. I wonder what Sanders will have to say about all this," He added, muttering.

Chris let out a sigh of relief at Snape's acquiescence. "Michael!" He called, "Callie, Lucas!"

A moment later, three whitelighters materialized in front of them. "You're having a lesson _today?"_ Michael exclaimed, and then turned to Snape. "And you're _letting_ him?!"

"Tell it to _him_, Sanders, not me," Snape snorted. "There is no arguing with him when he has made up his mind to be obstinate and dimwitted." He took himself off moodily to his desk, deciding to use the lesson time to correct some papers.

"Chris, you can't do Occulemency today!"

"Yes, I can."

The other two were looking at them in confusion. They had not been at the meeting. "Why, what happened today?"

"Nothing," Chris said to them in a quelling tone, with a pointed look at Michael, "Now shut up, I need to focus." He closed his eyes and evened out his breathing, concentrating on putting up the barrier.

Two hours and a half hours later, beads of sweat were shimmering on Chris's bow, and he was breathing hard because of the effort it was taking him to hold up the barrier. With everything that had happened that day, his emotions were understandably wearing him down more than usual, but he had never been the type to cut himself a break. He was determined to reach three hours before he finally took it down. He had coddled himself enough. Snape, who had been sitting at his desk and correcting papers suddenly looked up and caught sight of his face, and noted in a single glance the signs of his exhaustion. He glanced at his watch and his face darkened.

"Haliwell," He said, exasperatedly, "Bring the barrier down at once!"

"No!" Chris protested. "I've done two hours and forty minutes-"

"Which is ten minutes more than you did yesterday."

"But I'm doing it without being attacked by Legilimency every five seconds, I should be able to manage-"

Snape set down his quill. "Haliwell, if you don't take that barrier down right this instant, I will Floo straight to Potter's office and tell him what we have been doing during these Occulemency lessons, and you know as well as I what will happen then!"

"You wouldn't," Chris said, "You'd be in more trouble than me if you did that."

"Haliwell," Snape said warningly. He had nearly reached the end of his patience with the young man's stubbornness.

"Alright, alright, I'm taking it down already," Chris said, realizing when to quit. "Geez."

He sat down cross-legged on the floor, and concentrated on pulling down the barrier as slowly as he could.  Snape watched as his expression twisted in pain, and he jerked, and then the pain faded and he slipped into unconsciousness. By now, it was a familiar sight. As the three whitelighters flew forward to heal him, Snape wondered, not for the first time, what Chris thought just before he pulled down the barrier, not knowing for sure that he would live another day. He rather doubted that Chris's life flashed before his eyes (that seemed rather too clichéd and somewhat time-consuming), but perhaps, he conjectured, Chris felt fear, or nostalgia?

He would never have guessed that the only emotion that crossed Chris's mind every time the darkness took him relief…and that somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, Chris always hoped that he would never wake up again.

…

Harry had given up searching for Chris and was heading for his office when out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar figure walking towards the Grand Staircase. "Chris, there you are!" He exclaimed, not bothering to hide the concern from his voice because he knew that Chris would feel it anyway.

 "Hello, Mr. Potter," Chris said, evenly, turning and walking towards him. "Were you looking for me?"

Harry almost cringed, for though Chris's voice hadn't been _cold,_ not quite, it was certainly a far cry away from anything resembling friendly. Although Harry had been hearing that detached tone from Chris for months, he never could get used to it. "Yes, Chris, I was," He sighed.

"Why?"

 "Isn't it obvious?" Harry asked, incredulously. "I'm worried about you. What happened today-"

"Don't be," Chris cut him off in that same maddeningly detached tone, "I'm fine."

(Harry) wondered who he was trying to fool. He _knew_ that Chris could feel his concern with his empathy, and what was more, Chris knew he knew it.

"We both know that isn't true," He said flatly.

Chris blinked and then sighed. "Is there something in particular that you wanted, Mr. Potter?" He asked wearily, ignoring the older man's words.

Harry swallowed down his exasperation. "You need to know that Jennifer's death wasn't your fault," He said, hoping against hope that his words would somehow penetrate the walls Chris had erected around himself. "You're only human, Chris. Your empathy might allow you access to people's emotions, but you have no way of knowing why they're feeling that way. This _isn't _your fault."

Pain flashed briefly across Chris's face, along with self-loathing, but he masked them almost as quickly as they appeared. "Mr. Potter, I'm sorry but I'm kind of busy right now," He said distantly. "I need to go and help Ian with the training. So if there's nothing more…"

Harry sighed, defeated. "Fine, go. Just…" He had to try, even though he knew it was futile. "You know you can always talk to me, don't you?"

"Of course," Chris said, in a voice that said he had no intention of ever doing anything of the kind. "I'll see you around."

He orbed out, and Harry barely restrained from kicking the floor in frustration.  "Damn it!"

…

_"Hello, Voldemort."_

_"Haliwell.__ I thought we agreed that you would not summon me again. I thought I made it clear that I am not going to tell you how a Horcrux is made. You must find your own path to immortality, and stop summoning me to you every second day. You have your own war, and we both agreed that you would stay out of mine."_

_Wyatt growled in fury at the Dark Lord's less than respectful tone, and an energy ball appeared in his palm. _

_There was a moment's silence, then, "You can't kill me, Haliwell," Voldemort said smugly. "You might be more powerful than I am, but you are still my Horcrux. If you want to kill me, you'll have to kill yourself first."_

_Which, they both knew, was **exactly **why Wyatt wanted immortality badly enough to murder his family for it. He hated having to answer to someone so obviously inferior to him. He wanted to finish Voldemort or at least force him to acknowledge who was more powerful between them. Once again, he cursed Chris for his stubbornness. If he had Horcruxes of his own, Voldemort would not have any power over him. He **needed** Voldemort's journal! But, he thought, smirking, once he wiped out Chris and the Resistance once and for all, getting hold the journal wouldn't be much of a problem. And once he had it, he would end Voldemort and the Death Eaters' reign and rule Europe, too. With a Herculean effort, he extinguished the fireball in his hand.  "That goes for you too," He said. "You can't split your soul into any more pieces. All your other Horcruxes have been destroyed. If you kill me, not that you **can** kill me, then that's the end of your immortality. If you told me how to make Horcruxes, I would be virtually indestructible, and then nothing would be able to stop either of us."_

_Voldemort snorted in amusement. "I've been playing this game for a lot longer than you, boy. Don't you think I know that you will kill me the moment your own immortality is ensured independently of me?"_

_Wyatt shook his head impatiently, tired of the argument which they had already had a million times. "Fuck that. That's not the reason I summoned you," He said. "I need your help."_

_Voldemort's blood red eyes registered surprise, and then his lips twisted in a smirk. "The great Wyatt Haliwell, asking for assistance from a lower-level witch?" He asked. "And what can I help you with, my Lord?"_

_Wyatt ground his teeth in anger at Voldemort's mocking tone, resisting the urge to kill incinerate him with a fireball. "My brother has challenged me to a final confrontation," He ground out. "I think it would be in your interests to join me."_

_"And why would I want to do that, Haliwell? Are you not powerful enough to take on you brother alone?" _

_"I have made the mistake of under-estimating Christopher in the past, and I won't be doing that again," Wyatt said, "Some months ago, I captured my brother, and he managed to get away, evading some of my most powerful wards. I examined the memories of the place to see how he did, and when I re-created his escape, do you know what I found? I found that my brother did **not **escape by himself. He was rescued, by a lower-level witch. And we both know that there are no lower-level witches in America."_

_"Speak plainly, boy," Voldemort said. "What does this have to do with me?"_

_"One of the people who came to rescue him, I had never seen him before in my life. But my soul- **your** soul- recognized him. Now do you get it? Connect the dots, Voldy, it's not that hard."_

_Voldemort frowned at the name, before his eyes widened and he finally caught on. "Potter," He hissed. There was bloodlust in his eyes._

_"That's right. It seems as though my brother has joined forces with none other your old friend…archenemy…whatever." He chuckled softly. "Small world, isn't it?"_

_Voldemort bared his teeth in a feral smile. "If Harry Potter has joined forces with your brother, then perhaps it is time for us to join forces, as well."_

_Wyatt smirked. "Why, Lord Voldemort, I do believe you just read my mind."_

…

Half a world away, a man named Harry Potter woke with a shout. His scar was on fire.

…

"It was so weird. I felt _both_ their emotions. Voldemort's _and_ Wyatt's. That's never happened before."

"Well, Wyatt _is_ a Horcrux, Harry," Hermione pointed out, "He's got a piece of Voldemort's soul fused with his- it makes sense that you'd feel a connection with both. Especially since he made Wyatt a Horcrux _after_ he tried to kill you and unintentionally forged that connection between you both through your scar. Is it still sore?"

"A little. But not nearly as bad as it was earlier."

There was a short pause.

"So, I guess this means you were right, Chris," Ron said, "They _are _joining forces."

Chris waved a hand dismissively. "Wyatt would have been furious at my escape, and the first thing he would have done was to examine the recent memories of the place to figure out what I'd done. He knows better than to underestimate me, and anyway, we already prepared to fight two Dark Lords, so it doesn't change anything. What I'm more worried about is whether Wyatt got any information about our battle strategies out of Jennifer," He ruthlessly suppressed both anguish and nausea at the memory of the blood running down her legs. "He tortured her for awhile. And she was a part of most of the meetings, so she knew everything that was going on."

"And whose fault is that?" Moody growled. "You were the one who vouched for her, Haliwell. You let a Muggle come for Order meetings, and then you scratch your head and wonder what went wrong."

A look of fury crossed Chris's face, and it was the first honest emotion Harry had seen from him in ages. "If you had been tortured and then fucking _raped _by him, _you _would have broken too," He spat, "And I'm willing to bet in a lot less time than she did."

"I would never have-"

"Mad-Eye," Harry was completely sick of Moody's distrust for Chris, which had continued in the face of all evidence to the contrary. "Shut up, or I'll come over there and _make_ you."

Moody glared at him but subsided with a couple of muttered insults that Chris chose to ignore. "Anyway, I don't think we can do much to help it even if shedid tell him something she wasn't supposed to," He said. "It's too late to change our plans, which are still workable, even without the element of surprise."

"But we _have_ to take precautions-"

"No," Harry interrupted, "He's right. All the teams have been already been trained to be in certain positions and perform certain roles. We can't just change everything in the eleventh hour; it'll create too much confusion."

"But what if Jennifer told him about Malfoy teaching the ten of us to fight with our Wiccan and Wizarding magic?" Ron asked. "If they know what each of our powers are-"

"The best we can do is put glamours on you, make you look like each other to confuse them," Chris said. "Other than that, all we can put our faith in Jennifer, and hope for the best."

"Hope for the best?" Ron said, incredulously. "_That's_ your brilliant battle strategy? Are you _joking?"_

Chris met his eyes, his expression challenging. "Why, you got something better?"

A beat, then, "We are_ so_ screwed."

…

"Malfoy."

"Potter," Malfoy turned towards him in surprise. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Just came to check on how you're training them…which I see is progressing very well." He looked around. "Where's Chris?"

"Helping Severus with some Potions, in the dungeons, I think."

"Good." Now at least they wouldn't have to have this conversation looking over their shoulders and hoping Chris wouldn't realize they were talking about him. "At today's meeting, I'm going to assign _you_ to Chris's team for the final battle. You're the most powerful and the best trained out of the eleven of you, and you've fought Wyatt before, so you'll be more prepared."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him, looking honestly confused. "Why are you telling me all this now? I have no problem with being assigned to Chris's team, but…"

"I'm concerned about him," Harry admitted, "He's been so…_distant_…lately. He isn't acting like himself."

Malfoy frowned. "Actually, yes, he isacting like himself. He _always_ acts like this before a major battle or mission, and this is the _final _battle we're talking about, so I'm not surprised he's being a bit more extreme than usual. Anyway, it's not as though he's all warm and friendly to people even on his good days."

But Harry shook his head. "No. It's not just the fact that the battle's coming. Something else is…_off_…with him. He's…his whole reaction to Jennifer's death was so…emotionless. And now with the final battle coming- well, I'm not the only person who's concerned. Snape is, too."

That caught Malfoy by surprise. "He is?" Perhaps there really _was _something the matter, if his _godfather_ was worried.

"Yeah. He says he doesn't know what killing Wyatt will do to Chris…he's not sure how he'll react."

"And you want me to keep an eye on him during the battle," Malfoy stated, accurately guessing where this was going. "And in particular, you're warning me not to not get too caught up in the jubilation when he _does_ defeat Wyatt, so that I can make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Is that it?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I would have done it myself, but I'll probably be a bit preoccupied with Voldemort when the time comes."

Malfoy grimaced. 'Preoccupied' was a bloody understatement. "Yes, well, you don't have to worry," He said, even as he wondered why he was taking the trouble to reassure _Potter_, of all people. But the man was obviously concerned for Chris, so that put them on the same page. "I'll watch out for him," He said, with blunt honesty, "I'd give my life for the kid. Merlin knows I've come close to doing it, too, more times than I care to remember."

Harry stared at Malfoy, unable to shake off his surprise at the man's sincerity. He remembered, belatedly, that Malfoy had been around the Haliwells since the age of sixteen and had watched Chris grow up. He felt a stab of jealousy at the thought, but quelled it at once. He didn't have a right to feel fatherly towards Chris when the young man had brushed off his concern repeatedly. And yet…

"Thank you, Malfoy. I guess I'll…see you at the meeting."

Harry was already moving away when Malfoy's voiced stopped him. "Amazing, isn't it?"

"What?"

"The two of us are actually having a conversation that doesn't involve any death threats and name-calling. Hell really _must_ have frozen over."

"Oh, I don't know about that, _ferret face_," Harry said, grinning.

"You just _had_ to go and ruin it, didn't you, scar head," Malfoy sighed theatrically. "And here I was going for a world record…"

"Well, count your blessings." He marveled at how much he was enjoying bantering with his once archenemy, how much the hatred and bitterness of their childhood had toned down into something good-natured, almost friendly. "At least there haven't been any death threats."

"Yet."

Some things never changed.

…

"I've been thinking," Harry said, "If we lose and Hogwarts falls, we need to do something to make sure that journal never falls into Wyatt's hands. We can't take the risk of his making Horcruxes."

Ron frowned. "A Dark object like that isn't exactly going to be easy to destroy," He pointed out. "For all we know, it might be cursed."

They were silent for a moment, and then Hermione clapped her hands. "Oh my God, that's it!"

"What?"

"Remember Riddle's journal? Remember what you used to destroy it, Harry?"

"A Basilisk fang! And we have a huge supply of Basilisk fangs right here in the Chamber of Secrets- I seriously doubt anyone's moved them. Why the hell didn't we think of that before? It could have come in really handy when we were trying to destroy all those other Horcruxes!"

"This journal isn't even a Horcrux," Hermione added excitedly. "And I can't think of too many curses that can survive a good doze of Basilisk venom."

"This could actually work," Ron said, amazed that the solution had been that easy, staring them right in the faces.

"Yeah, it could."

Harry felt a brief surge of hope. Things were looking up.

…

Chris's eyes shot up when he heard Snape gasp softly and clutch at his forearm. "Sir?" He asked, concerned at the pain he was sensing from the man.

"Tell Potter that I have been summoned away," Snape said through gritted teeth. "The Dark Lord has yet to inform the Death Eaters about the upcoming battle, so I suppose that's what this meeting will be about. Can you put a glamour on me, so that all my old injuries appear undisturbed? I do not want him suspicious."

Chris recited a quick spell, but couldn't tell if it had worked or not because of his power to see through illusions. Snape walked up to the mirror hanging on the wall near the fireplace, and grimaced at his reflection and the memories of pain it brought back. "Impressive," He admitted grudgingly even as he began to move about the room and gather up his things. "I shall most likely be detained at the Dark Lord's side until the battle begins. Tell Potter that I will send any information I learn about the Dark Lord's battle plans through my Patronus, as always." He donned the heavy black robes and pulled up the hood, obscuring his face in shadow. "I won't be seeing you again until this is all over," He said. "Practice your Occulemency and for Merlin's sake, _do not_ kill yourself." He grabbed the bag of Floo powder and threw a pinch of it into the fireplace, stepped into it.

"Good luck," Chris said.

"To you, also," Snape replied, nodding.

He disappeared in a swirl of green colored flames.

…

The silence was almost tangible as Chris turned to address the room. "Many of you have fought by my side for years," He said. "Some of you have even given your family members and loved ones in the fight against my brother. I ask you to do the same for me one last time." He took a deep breath. "I know that many of the people standing here today will no longer be standing tomorrow. I won't try to sugarcoat our odds- I respect you too much to do that. Most of us are probably going to die. But at least we'll go down fighting. At least we'll know that we're dying for our families, our loved ones. At least we'll know that every drop of blood we shed protects thousands of innocents, thousands of _mortals_, who were roped into all this with even less warning than we had. The duty of all good magic is to protect _them._ They come before all of us- before me, and Wyatt, and the greater Good. So if we have to die, let's die for the one thing most worth dying for." He paused, and looked around the room, meeting their eyes one by one. "It will be my honor to fight beside you, to live and die beside you, one last time."

The silence continued for a moment, and then the room erupted in cheers, and Chris smiled a fierce, feral smile as determination filled him.

_I'm coming, Wyatt. Do your worst._

…

TBC…

Obviously, the Basilisk fang idea is directly from Book 2/Book 7. Just paying homage to Rowling. The next chapter- the much anticipated (by me, at least) final battle! I'm SO not looking forward to writing it…fight sequences don't exactly come easily to me. I hope I don't disappoint, since I've been building up to it since the beginning of the story.

On that note, I have a question to ask you. There was supposed to be more than one fight sequence in this story (which is why I gave it the genre Drama/Adventure) but somehow, it just never happened. The WHOLE of next chapter will be devoted to the battle, though. Still, this story is more about characters and emotions than anything else. So do you think I should change the genre to Angst/Drama? I've been thinking for awhile that "Adventure" might be a bit misleading…what do you guys think?


	20. Of Blood, Brothers and Heroes

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 20: Of Blood, Brothers and Heroes

THANKS TO Warriora for doing such a great job beta-reading.

…

"Chris! Duck!"

Chris threw himself down just in time, feeling the fireball singe the top of his hair. Cursing under his breath, he leapt to his feet and quickly finished the demon with an energy ball. The power was another weird hybrid of whitelighter and witch genes, though Chris hated using it, because Wyatt had it too and had used it to kill innocents. "Thanks, Ian!" He managed to call out as he whipped around to face another demon.

Malfoy only had time to grunt in acknowledgment before one of Wyatt's probes appeared in front of him. He telekinetically slammed it into the ground, destroying it just as it was sending out one of its deadly laser beams, but had no time to recover from the near miss, as three more probes followed after it. He raised his hands, aiming at the probes on the left and the right._ "Incendio!"_

Streaks of light flew from his palms and set the probes on fire. He was forced to drop to his knees to avoid a laser beam from the probe in the centre, but he managed to aim his hands enough to telekinetically shove the probes he had just _Incendio_ed into a couple of demons who'd been creeping up on either side of him. They promptly screamed and burst into flame, and he felt a savage sense of satisfaction at using Wyatt's technological innovations to kill his own demons._ Combining Wizarding and Wiccan magic is the best idea Chris ever had_, he thought, as he shoved the third probe into a thicket of approaching demons and Disarmed it non-verbally, watching with satisfaction as its various parts shot in all directions and impaled ten or twelve demons.

"Nice one, Ian!" One of his team mates called out.

"Shit! _Phoenixes!" _He heard Chris shout from his right, and he turned just as what had to be an entire _coven _shimmered into their midst. Phoenixes were immune to most magical attacks, so he whipped out his guns and started firing. Unfortunately, they were too fast, and most of the bullets missed.

One of them shimmered away to avoid a bullet and reappeared behind him before he had the chance to re-orient himself. She shoved a hand into his back, draining him off energy and magic, and he groaned, the guns falling from his hand as his knees threatened to buckle.

"Ian!" Chris shouted behind him, and suddenly the hand was gone as Chris blew the Phoenix up with an energy ball. She reformed again in front of them, but Chris was ready for her this time and shot her with a crossbow.

Malfoy slid to his knees, gritting his teeth and breathing harshly, his back throbbing with pain. He saw Chris wave a hand at him and the next thing he knew, he was reforming in the sanatorium at SH-5. A whitelighter- he didn't even see who it was- shoved a Revitalizing Potion at him and then bent over his back to heal him. He tossed back the Potion and felt some of his energy return. The healing took a good five minutes, but at least he _could_ be healed, he thought, thankful just to have gotten out of this one alive. When Phoenixes tried to drain your magic, you didn't recover from it unless it was treated immediately. If Chris had intervened a minute later, it would have been too late.

The second he was healed, he Apparated back to Chris's side.

...

Chris was tiring; he had thrown too many energy balls over the last few hours, and he was feeling more and more drained. His head was throbbing in spite of the Occulemency barrier, always a bad sign. He wanted more than anything to drain the vial of Pain Relieving Potion around his neck, but there was simply no time. Phoenixes, probes, demons, witches, wizards and warlocks were everywhere, and the moment he took care of one threat two others appeared in its place. Wyatt was nowhere in sight, and even as Chris tried to push his way into the thicket of demons with increasing desperation, more and more of them kept shimmering or flaming in, blocking his way. He was running out of time, and there seemed to be only _one_ apparent solution, the last resort that he had told no one about and which he would rather have died than use, if that would have done any good.

He felt someone approaching from behind him and he whirled around, energy ball already forming in his hand, until he saw that it was Ian. "Hey! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" He hurled the energy ball at a demon that was creeping up behind them.

Malfoy smashed two probes into each other and they both jumped back to avoid the explosion that resulted. He turned to face Chris, noting his pale and sweaty face with concern. "You're tired, aren't you? You've used up too much energy!"

"_What?"_ Chris shouted, unable to hear his friend over the dying screams of a couple of demons as they were vanquished.

"I said, you're tiring, you idiot!" Malfoy hollered. He levitated himself into the air to avoid an athame, and kicked out hard at the Phoneix who had thrown it, breaking her neck. "You need to get to SH-5 now before you collapse!" He continued as he floated back to the ground.

"But-"

"No, no buts! You won't be any good to us if you get yourself killed!"

Chris knew he needed to recoup if he was going to get through this. He needed time to figure out what to do about Wyatt's absence. And, he sensed that Snape and Harry had also just arrived at SH-5. Perhaps they would have some ideas...

"Fine."

He orbed away.

...

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_ The Death Eater's arms flew to his sides, and he fell flat on the ground.

Harry straightened, catching his breath in the brief lull before he had to face another opponent. He squinted. The blinding streaks of light flying through the air was making it hard to see, and the dust being kicked up by the duelling witches and wizards wasn't helping either. And it was getting hard to breathe with all the dust and smoke, too. He quickly cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself, marvelling at the fact that no one had accidentally offed someone from their _own _team yet. At the rate things were going...

Harry sensed a presence at his back and whipped around, finding himself face to face with a Death Eater. "Potter. Long time, no see."

Harry may not have been able to see his face, but he recognized that voice. "Zabini. On the contrary, it hasn't been long _enough." _

"Why?" Zabini raised his wand. "Scared?"

"You wish, Zabini."

He shot a non-verbal Leg-Locker Curse at the Death Eater, hoping to get him while he was distracted with the conversation. But the man dodged, laughing, and Harry remembered belatedly that Zabini had always been one of the best duellers in Syltherin during their schooldays. In addition, he was from one of the most powerful Dark wizarding families in Europe, and probably knew quite a few Dark curses that Harry had never even heard of. He would _not_ be easy to beat.

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Protego! Expelliarmus!"_

Zabini blocked him, and shot a jinx at him which he didn't recognize. He dodged out of the way, wincing when large, ugly cracks appeared on the ground where the jinx had struck. Mentally, he thanked Quidditch for giving him such quick reflexes- he would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of that.

"_Serpensortia!"_ He shouted, having a sudden flashback to Second Year. A snake appeared on the floor between them, hissing angrily. "Kill him," Harry hissed at it in Parseltongue. The snake turned and hissed at his opponent.

Zabini froze for a moment in fear. Then he snapped out of it._ "Evanesco!"_ The snake arched and vanished. _"Duro!"_

Harry cursed and got out of the way, narrowly missing a curse that would have turned him to stone. He pointed his wand at the ground near Zabini's feet. _"Defodio!"_

Zabini shouted, trying to get out of the way, but he wasn't fast enough. A sinkhole had opened under his feet and he sank into it, screaming.

Harry made a mental note to thank Hermione for digging that spell out of whatever out of whichever tome she had found it in. He glanced around, taking stock of his surroundings. Death Eaters, Inferi, giants and an assortment of other Dark Creatures were everywhere, but Voldemort was nowhere in sight. Snape had said that Voldemort was planning to bury himself at the back of his army in hopes that Harry would exhaust his resources trying to reach him, which for now, was a good thing, because Harry couldn't kill Voldemort until Chris killed Wyatt. But his resources really _would_ be exhausted at this rate, and Chris could be finishing off Wyatt as they spoke. A Death Eater suddenly Apparated right in front of him, and Harry reacted on instinct.

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Protego!_" Shouted a very familiar but extremely irritated voice._ "_Potter, you bumbling oaf, I'm on your side!"

Harry lowered his wand. "Snape?"

"Not so loud, you idiot, there are Death Eaters everywhere. Are you trying to get me killed? We need to talk." He grabbed Harry's arm and Apparated them both to SH-5.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Harry asked, "Aren't you supposed to be with-?"

"-the Dark Lord? He has surrounded himself with his most trusted Death Eaters, of whom I am not one because of my insistence on protecting Draco. He is waiting it out, as I told you he would. He will not be stirred from there easily, Potter, and his army far outnumbers yours. Your only hope is to engage him directly, while you still have the strength required to do so."

"I have to draw him out to do that, which I don't know how to do! And anyway, what's the point? Chris has to defeat Wyatt first, and he hasn't given the signal yet-"

They were interrupted by the sound of orbs. "Chris!" He noticed Chris's paleness. "Are you alright?"

"Need a Revitalizing Potion," He muttered, massaging his head. "Ian sent me." He uncorked the vial of Pain Relieving Potion around his neck and drained it, sighing in relief as it numbed the pain.

"Why didn't you orb straight to the San if you needed a Revitalizing Potion?"

"I sensed you guys were here, too. Thought we'd catch up. How's it going on your end?"

They fell into step with him as he strode towards the Sanatorium. "Not good. Voldemort's buried himself at the back of his army, which is even larger than we expected. I'll have no way of getting to him even if- _when- _you kill Wyatt."

"Yeah, well, don't hold your breath for that. I'm kind of facing the same problem with Wyatt. I can't find him anywhere. I think he's in the Underworld, watching the battle through his probes. He wants me to be good and exhausted before he tries to fight me."

"Well, I have a way of solving Potter's problem, but yours-"

"Chris!" Michael, Callie and Lucas jumped to their feet when they saw him approaching. "Are you okay?" Michael asked.

"Just need some Revitalizing Potion. Thanks," He added as two vials were immediately pressed into his hands. He drained the first vial. "Sir, you were saying?"

"I was saying that I can lure Voldemort to Potter once you send up the signal."

"How?"

"Don't worry about that, I'll take care of it. We don't have time to discuss it. What about your brother?"

"I could...I could summon him with a blood spell," He whispered, feeling his mask falter as he voiced the thought he'd been trying to run away from for days. Typical of his luck, his last resort had turned into his _only_ resort.

"What?!" Michael exclaimed, "Are you _insane?"_

"Michael," He said quietly, "You know I'm running out of time."

Michael's face tightened. "Chris, you could ruin everything the Resistance- the Order- has worked for!"

"Meaning what, exactly?" Harry asked, glancing between them, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

Chris hesitated. "Blood spells...they're complicated. You can't just cast them on _any_ blood relation. It has to be someone you know really well. They're, like, the epitome of good magic, and most good magic works off of emotions. So when I cast the blood spell, it'll strengthen my familial bond with Wyatt."

"Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it does," Harry said in disbelief. _Why_ was the entire world so _determined _to screw with Chris, for heaven's sake?!

"I'm afraid it does, Mr. Potter. If I summon him, I won't feel like its Lord Wyatt, the monster who killed my entire family, standing in front of me. I'll feel like it's my big brother." He swallowed hard.

_God help us all. _"No," Harry said firmly, "Absolutely not."

"Potter-"

"No! There's no way he's doing this, Snape! I can't believe you'd even consider it!"

"He doesn't have a choice," Snape said with surprising sharpness, and Chris realized with a start that the idea of putting him through something so harrowing was as abhorrent to him as it was to Harry. The difference was that Snape knew that in this case, there really was no choice. Three hours of the battle were already up, and the longest Chris had been able to keep up the barrier so far without dying was three and a half. If he _didn't_ finish Wyatt within the next hour, he would die, and if he pulled the barrier down now, then he would be too weak to hurt a fly, let alone the Source of all Evil.

But of course, Harry didn't know that. Chris winced when the man actually began to shout at Snape. "That line is _not_ going to work on me again! He's risked himself again and again using that as an excuse- but he _does_ have a choice! Chris can't just keep sacrificing himself again and again for other people- it has to end somewhere_._ There is _always_ a choice."

For a moment, Chris had no idea what to say. He hadn't realized that the older man was this close to losing his temper. The Occulemency barrier had done its job and dulled his empathy, though he could have really have used his ability to read people right about now, if only to find out what to say to calm Harry down. "Mr. Potter," He began, but was cut off before he could even start to formulate an argument.

"No, Chris. Don't you dare. Not this time." Harry's voice was low and ragged.

Chris found himself blinking back tears in the silence that followed. _This_ was why he'd kept his distance from Harry over the past few months, because of the man's tendency to rip his heart out with his concern_._ "Fine," He said. "I won't do the spell."

Harry's face reflected surprise. "Really?"

"Really."

It wouldn't be the first lie he had told.

...

"Chris, is that you?" Malfoy shouted, "What took you so long?"

"I...I just talked to Professor Snape and Mr. Potter."

Malfoy frowned at the hesitation in his words, glancing at Chris. "What's wrong? You look like somebody just died."

Chris flinched. _So_ not the right analogy to use right now. "I need to cast a blood spell to summon Wyatt here."

"You've lost your mind," Malfoy said hollowly.

Chris exhaled in frustration. "No, I haven't! I'm running out of time!"

"What do you mean, running out of time? I know we're losing a lot of people, but it's not-"

"If I don't kill Wyatt in the next hour, I'll die," Chris said bluntly, and Malfoy gasped in shock.

"_What-?"_

"Look, we don't have time for this! I just need you to cover me while I cast the spell. And Ian...don't let me fail. If I hesitate, remind me of what he's done to my family. He needs to die, and it needs to be now."

"Okay...okay, Chris."

Chris nodded, took out the athame he always kept about this person, and made a small cut on his little finger, letting the blood drip onto a spot on the ground. Then he backed away from it, keeping a margin of twenty feet. He ignored all the activity around him, trusting Ian to take care of any attacks, and concentrated on his brother.

"_Blood to blood,_

_I summon thee,_

_Blood to blood,_

_Come to me!"_

A moment, and then his breath hitched as Wyatt Mathew Halliwell, the Twice Blessed, the Source of all Evil, and most of all, _his older brother_, appeared on the spot where he had spilt his blood. Everything, demons, witches, and probes and Phoenixes all stopped fighting, stopped _moving,_ as Piper Halliwell's sons finally faced each other across the battlefield.

...

"You don't think he's lying, do you?" Harry asked Snape. "You don't think he'll do it anyway?"

Snape met his eyes levelly. "What in Merlin's name do you _think_, Potter?" He asked flatly.

Harry cursed under his breath. "Merlin. I'm going to_ kill_ him when all this is over."

"He's running out of time," Snape told him, "He doesn't have a choice."

"Explain that, please?"

"It would take too long."

Harry glared at him. "I swear, when I get to the bottom of this, I'm going to kill you too."

...

For a moment, Chris couldn't breathe._ Wyatt_ was standing in front of him, and for the first time in years, he didn't see the darkness in his eyes, the evil in his bearing. Instead, he saw the Wyatt who had taught him how to orb. The Wyatt who had taught him how to swing a baseball bat. The Wyatt who had been there all the times his father hadn't been. The Wyatt who had held him at night as he cried in fear over a particularly frightening demon they'd had to face. _His _Wyatt.

And then _Lord _Wyatt began to speak in that cruel taunting, and he realized that _no_, this wasn't his brother, and he gasped in pain. "A blood spell? And here I thought you actually _wanted _to pose a threat to me. How does it feel to set eyes on your beloved older brother Chris?" He laughed. "You know, I tried a blood spell once to summon you. It didn't work. Apparently, I just didn't _feel _a strong enough attachment for you for the magic to work."

"Damn you, you bastard," Chris's voice was shaking, and there were tears spilling down his cheeks, because _damn _this spell was potent, and everyone of Wyatt's words were tearing him apart.

"Dude, are you _crying?_" Wyatt asked, sounding amused, and Chris's choked a little at the word 'dude,' because it instantly took him back to a time when they were kids and his brother had gone through a phase when he couldn't stop using the word, thinking it made him sound so _cool. _"You really are a weak, pathetic little mortal, aren't you?" Wyatt said.

_Oh, God_, He told himself desperately,_ This isn't my brother. This isn't my brother. This isn't…_

"I can't believe I wanted you to join me," Wyatt said.

But it _was _his brother.

"You're mortal too, Wyatt," He said defiantly, because he needed him to attack first. "You don't know how to make a Horcrux, and you'll never find out. I destroyed the book."

Wyatt roared angrily and hurled an energy ball at him, and as Chris had hoped, instincts of self-preservation kicked in. He telekinetically hurled the ball back at Wyatt, and Wyatt made clenched his hand into a fist and extinguished it. They were both breathing hard as they looked at each other across ten feet of dust and debris and bloodstains.

Chris was shaking with the effort of trying not to breaking down, because God, he had just _attacked_ his brother. His _brother_ had just attacked _him._ The silence stretched on for a moment, or it could have been for an era. And then Wyatt began to attack in earnest. Years of training kicked in then and he felt his body and his magic fight back. As he hurled an athame at his brother, he couldn't help the sudden thought,_ I wish I was dead._

...

Harry was startled and rather alarmed when Kingsley Shacklebolt's eagle Patronus appeared beside him. Shacklebolt was too old and had sustained too many injuries over the years for active combat, so he had been relegated to monitoring the H-maps. The fact that he had risked distracting Harry in the middle of a duel with an extremely powerful Death Eater did not bode well. Clearly, the news wasn't good. He hurled a jinx at the Death Eater, and watched as she was Transfigured into what looked like a sea urchin. _"Engorgio."_ He watched with satisfaction as the thing that had once been a Death Eater puffed up and exploded, sending slime and other disgusting liquids splattering in all directions.

"What happened?" He panted at the eagle.

The eagle opened its silvery beak, and Shackelbolt's voice issued out of it. "Wyatt Halliwell has just arrived on the other side of SH-5. He and Chris Halliwell appear to be in combat. Do you have any instructions as to how to proceed?" The eagle closed its beak and waited for Harry's message.

Harry was silent for a few moments as his worst fears were confirmed. "Stay put," He ground out at last, "There's nothing we can do."

No one in the Order or the Resistance was a match for Wyatt. He felt helplessness wash over him, and was brutally reminded him of the time when he had been forced to stand by and listen to Wyatt torture and kill Chris's fiancée, powerless to do anything.

_Damn you, Chris,_ He thought, slashing viciously at an approaching Inferus, _Why the hell didn't you just come and __**talk **__to me? Why the hell did you let things go so far?_

…

Chris hung in the air, choking, his lips turning blue. This was the end, he realized. He had no strength left to fight back, and he was going to fail. And then suddenly Wyatt unclenched his wrist, and he fell to the floor, wheezing. Glaring at his brother, he tried to muster up enough energy for a telekinetic attack- energy balls were completely out of his capacity by now-and gestured weakly at his brother. His brother didn't even take a step back; the only indication that Chris had tried to attack him was the way his hair blew as though disturbed by wind.

"That was pathetic, Chris."

Chris had to agree. It really was. How the hellhad he become so tired in so short a time? Was the Occulemency barrier really taking such a huge toll on him? Or was it trying to attack someone he loved while under the affect of a blood spell? Either way, he didn't even pose a _threat_ to Wyatt right now. _Then again, I never have. _He scowled at the unbidden thought, knowing it was the blood spell talking_._ "Screw you, Wyatt," He rasped.

Wyatt laughed softly. "I would Chris, but I don't swing that way."

_Thank God for small mercies, _Chris thought sarcastically. "Why the hell are you wasting time talking, Wyatt?" He rasped. "Why don't you just summon Excalibur and finish me already? Come on, I know you want to."

He knew it was unwise to bait Wyatt, but he just didn't care anymore. He was in no condition to go up against his brother anyway, so as far as he was concerned, he had already failed. He was going to die soon one way or another. Why couldn't Wyatt just kill him already?

"You're right, Chris," Wyatt answered, all traces of amusement gone. "I do want to. For a long time, the part of my soul that was once _your brother's_ wouldn't let me kill you. It was amazing, really. That part of me had such a small will of its own, and it chose to exert itself for _your_ sake. It didn't even _try_ to stop me when I tortured and killed your family; it was so focussed on preventing me from doing that to you."

Chris's eyes watered. That was the big brother he remembered, alright.

"But now…I think I've finally been able to overcome that part of me." He smiled. "_Excalibur!"_

"No!" Malfoy shouted from the sidelines and Wyatt through him a dirty look.

"Shut up, Dorian. You know what they say- the weak shouldn't interrupt when the powerful speaking."

Chris snorted weakly. "Who the hell says that besides _you?"_

Wyatt glared at him, raising his sword menacingly. "Any last words, brother?"

Chris raised defiant eyes to his. "Go to hell."

"I'm already there, Chris." He began to walk forward. He paused for a moment, and a slightly wistful smile crossed his face. "We could have been so great together," He whispered. He raised the sword, and Chris closed his eyes.

Malfoy chose that moment to make his move. _"Expelliarmus!"_

Wyatt's eyes widened in shock as the sword flew out of his hands. He followed its progress, not understanding what had happened, or how. That had sounded like wizarding magic, but as far as he knew, Dorian Miller was Wiccan.

Chris watched as the sword flew up in an arc, registering the fact that Malfoy had delayed the inevitable. But before he could think what to do with the unexpected reprieve, the sword froze in mid-air in the space between the brothers. Chris's eyes widened when he looked around and realized that _everyone _was frozen. Wyatt was standing there looking at him in shock; Ian's hand was frozen in the air, pointing at the sword. Chris clambered to his feet, wondering what was going on _this _time.

And then, great clouds of dust rose and swirled into the air, but there was no wind. He watched, wide-eyed, as the dust coalesced into a form. And then a woman was standing in front of him, a red-haired woman dressed in white robes, glowing pearly white.

"Who are you?" He asked hoarsely.

The woman said nothing for a few moments, regarding him with timeless, penetrating eyes. "Can you not guess, child?"

Chris shook his head.

"I am the Lady of the Lake."

Chris's jaw fell. "That's…impossible!" He exclaimed, "I've read the books- my family told me of their encounter with you! The Lady of the Lake can only form through water, and you just materialized from _dust!_ You can't possibly be her._"_

The Lady shook her head. "It was only because the attacks of the Dark Knight had weakened me that I could only appear to your family in my home element," She said. "In reality, all the elements contain water- save fire, of course. I can use any of these elements, such as earth, to manifest, if the need arises. And the need has arisen."

"I don't understand," Chris said.

"The sword was given to me to safeguard. I was to ensure that it was passed on to someone who would do great good with it- someone who was worthy of bearing the title of King Arthur's heir. I chose your brother, Piper Halliwell's firstborn. The birth of the Twice Blessed had been prophesized for centuries. He was supposed to be the most powerful magical being ever born, and for the first sixteen years of his life, he did great good with Excalibur."

Chris nodded. He knew all this.

"But something happened then that no one had prophesized," the Lady said. "Wyatt, the Twice Blessed, defied all my expectations and turned to the path of Evil. The sword was perverted from its purpose of protecting the innocent, and was used to spill innocent blood."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me," Chris said.

"Don't you see?" The Lady smiled. "I was mistaken in my choice. I didn't choose the heir that Arthur would have chosen, I chose someone who was meant to be powerful and great. Someone not at all like Arthur himself. I had planned to wait a few years before presenting the sword to Wyatt, but the Dark Knight forced my hand when he tried to steal it. If I had waited, perhaps I would have handed this over to the member of the Halliwell family who was _most_ like King Arthur."

Chris just stared uncomprehendingly. She couldn't _possibly_ be suggesting...

"You," The Lady said, "Arthur himself was only a farm-boy of sixteen when he pulled the sword from the stone. He was the least favoured among all the knights who had gathered to try their hand. He was the unlikely hero- just like you."

"No," Chris whispered in denial. "That's impossible."

"Between you and your brother, who was the less favoured? The most ignored? Who is the less powerful, in the most obvious ways?"

Chris knew, somewhere deep inside him, that she was making sense, but he still couldn't bring himself to believe it. "I am _not_ the heir to King Arthur's sword," He said. The idea that Excalibur could belong to anyone besides his brother was unthinkable. Growing up, he hadn't even been allowed to _touch _it, for fear that it's power would corrupt him. How could _he_ possibly be Arthur's heir? No, his brother was the true owner of Excalibur. He always had been. Then he realized that his difficulty in believing that anyone but Wyatt could _possibly_ have owned this sword might have something to do with the blood spell he had cast, and he cursed silently. How the hell was he supposed to trust this woman when he couldn't even trust himself?

"The first time your brother grasped the sword with his hands, what happened?" The Lady of the Lake asked.

Chris frowned. "Nothing."

"Then that proves he was not the true heir. When Arthur first grasped the sword, it burned brighter than thirty torches, blinding everyone present. When the true wielder of Excalibur grasps its hilt, there is a blinding light, a surge of energy. Neither of which happened when your brother grasped the swords."

"Maybe it did happen," Chris said desperately, "Maybe I don't remember it. I was very young when Wyatt-"

"The first time he actually summoned the sword was to defend _you,_" The Lady cut in. "You remember it perfectly well. Arthur has appeared to me in my dreams, and he has shown me the face of his intended heir, and it was your face. _You_ are the one who he believes will always use Excalibur to protect the innocent, and to vanquish evil, who will refuse to spill a drop of innocent blood, no matter what the cost is to himself. He showed me the things you will do with that sword, the lives you will save. If you had lived in Arthur's time, you would have been a true knight, Christopher Halliwell. And now, you are King Arthur's true heir."

"I can't be," Chris whispered, his voice shaking, "I can't be."

But what if it could?

He shoved the thought away.

"If you are so sure," She said, "Take hold of the sword and prove it. If the blade does not glow, then I will leave, and the battle will resume, and you will die at your brother's hand. But if _you_ are the true heir, the light will shine brightly enough to blind everyone, save you. You will be able to see everything clearly. And you will know what to do then."

"And what if you're wrong?" Chris asked, "What if I'm not the true heir? What if Wyatt is?"

"You have nothing to lose," the Lady said.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then slowly, hesitantly, Chris walked forward and wrapped his hand around the sword hilt. He felt a jolt of energy run through his body, and he suddenly didn't feel so weak anymore. And then, abruptly, the Lady vanished and the world unfroze. Chris watched in awe and amazement as a light travelled up the length of the sword, and burst forth into the air like a thousand suns. And yet, somehow, he could still see. Everyone around had covered their eyes with their hands, crying out in alarm. As if from a distance, Chris watched as Wyatt screwed up his eyes and brought his hands to his face, blinded like everyone else. Distracted. Suddenly, just as the Lady had said he would, he knew what he had to do. The sword was singing, pulsing with golden-white light. Wyatt was squinting, blinking water from his eyes as the light began to fade. Chris ran forward and plunged the sword straight into his brother's heart.

...

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, blinded by the light that blazed out from the other side of the battlefield. He heard panicked shouts all around him, from Order members and Death Eaters alike.

"What the hell is going on?!" someone shouted.

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't the signal we agreed on."

…

Chris watched as his brother's face contorted with pain. The sword hummed beneath his hand, and he let go of the hilt, feeling bile rising in his throat at the sight of it sticking out of his brother's chest. _God._ _He_ had done that. Wyatt was looking at him with an expression of fury. He heard people cheering around them, and out of the corner or his eye, saw Ian send up a shower of red sparks. Then Wyatt's eyes slid closed, and he felt his heart break, because _it wasn't supposed to end like this_-

And then Wyatt's eyes opened, and Chris gasped, because they were alight with love and sorrow and gratitude, rather than darkened by evil. The Horcrux was gone, and all that was left was his brother. His big brother. He slid to his knees beside him, shaking, tears streaming down his face.

"Chris…" Wyatt wheezed, "T-thank you…"

"Wyatt, I…"

"You did great, kid," Wyatt's eyes were sliding closed again, and Chris took hold of one of his hand and squeezed it, trying to keep him conscious. "You saved me. I am…_so_ proud of you," He said weakly.

Chris choked. "Wyatt."

"I love you, Chris."

Wyatt's eyes were full of tears, and then they slid closed. For a moment, all Chris could do was watch them track the tears slide down dusty cheeks. Then Wyatt's hand started to grow slack in his, and he suddenly realized that his brother was _dying._ Worse, there was only one person in the world who would consent to heal him, because none of the other whitelighters or Elders would save the life of the witch who had killed all the Halliwells and nearly destroyed their hope, not even Adrian.

Desperately, he turned his face up to the skies and shouted, _"Dad!" _ He waited, but there was no response. "Damn it, Dad! Wyatt's dying! He needs to be healed!"

Still nothing, and then Chris remembered. Leo _couldn't_ orb here and heal Wyatt. He couldn't _find_ Wyatt, couldn't sense him, because of the spell _Chris_ had placed on him four years ago, for his own protection. His father wasn't at fault here. The full horror of what was happening suddenly sank in, and he whitened. Wyatt was going to die here because Chris had made it impossible for him to be healed.

_What have I done?  
_

"Adrian," He gasped, tears streaming down his face, "Adrian, please, if you ever cared about me, Wyatt needs to be healed." The Elder didn't respond, and Chris knew he wouldn't come. He sobbed harder and then stretched out his own hands, which were trembling. "Damn it, heal," He whispered desperately, "For once in your life, _heal…" _His father's trigger was love wasn't it? He concentrated on his love for Wyatt, on his fear of losing him, and tried to will the golden glow into his hands. It didn't work. He started to sob; his hands going to Wyatt's chest, clutching at him in desperation, _feeling_ his chest rise and fall with his last breaths. _"No…"_

Wyatt's chest rose and fell one last time, and then he stilled completely. Chris let out an inarticulate cry of despair and anguish. And then familiar blue and white orbs appeared on his right, and hands pushed him out of the way, and he fell backwards, crying so hard he could barely see his father bend over Wyatt's body and try desperately to heal him. But he knew what his father's arrival meant. It meant that Wyatt was already dead- that was why the spell had worn off. And even Elders couldn't heal the dead.

"Dad," He whispered, a plea, a prayer.

Leo looked down at him, hatred in his eyes. "Don't ever call me that again. You killed my son. You stabbed him with his own sword. It was _your_ spell that wouldn't let me heal him. I never want to see you or hear from you again. Do you hear me?" Leo was shouting now. _"Don't ever call me again!"_

Chris's heart shattered. "Daddy, please don't…"

"I told you, don't call me that. You're not my son anymore."

"Dad, _please_ don't say that, you're all I have left-"

But Leo put his hand on Wyatt's shoulder, and orbed him away to God knows where. Chris couldn't sense him- his father was blocking him. He stared, blankly, at the spot where Wyatt's body had lain moments before. He raised his hands to wipe the tears from his face, and then realized that his hands were soaked- stained- in blood. _Wyatt's blood._ He gagged. It was everywhere- on the floor, on his hands, on his face where he had wiped the tears. He didn't want to live with his hands stained with his brother's blood. He glanced at his watch. It had been four hours since he had put up the Occulemency barrier. For the second time that day he thought, _I'm coming, Wyatt. _ Smiling, he took a deep breath, and then tore down his mental barrier. Pain slammed into him, worse than ever before, and he let it bear him into darkness.

…

A shower of red sparks shot into the air like so many small comets. They were cast by Malfoy's hand, magnified and expanded by his Wiccan magic. Harry cheered inwardly as he saw the signal. Chris had beaten all odds and defeated his brother.

And now he finally had a chance at defeating Voldemort. The Dark Lord who had plagued the wizarding world for the last four decades. Who had killed Harry's parents. Who had killed…so many people Harry cared about. He had been preparing for this since he was fifteen, and it was finally here.

The words from the first Valentine he had ever received rose in his mind. He heard Ginny's soft, sweet voice whisper, _I wish he were mine, he's really divine, the hero who conquered the Dark Lord._ He knew she loved him now for himself and not his fame, but in the beginning, when they were both children, she'd had a crush on The Boy Who Lived. He had been Superman to her Lois, and some of that hero-worship was still a part of her love for him. She had always had unwavering confidence that he would eventually defeat Voldemort. And now, with the moment finally approaching, he wanted her by his side. He wanted her to _see_ him point his wand at Voldemort and perform the Killing Curse.

He redoubled his efforts against the Death Eater he was duelling, finishing him off with what he would once have considered a Dark Spell- _Sectusempra._ The wizard's blood splattered onto he fell back with a scream. Then he Disapparated. He wanted- _needed_- Ginny's presence by his side when Snape got Voldemort onto the battlefield.

…

If it hadn't been for Potter's warning not to get too caught up in the celebrations and to keep an eye on Chris, Malfoy knew he would have missed it in all the confusion.

"Chris!" He shouted, surging forward when the young man toppled over. He wasted no time, and quickly Disapparated them both back to SH-5. He found himself pushed out of the way by Michael, Callie and Lucas, who appeared to have been waiting for them. The three joined hands and Michael knelt to heal Chris. Seconds passed.

"Damn it." Michael's face was white. "He's not healing…"

…

A savage smile twisted Snape's lips when he saw the shower of red sparks that his godson had sent up. He wasted no time, and cast two non-verbal Killing Curses, causing two Death Eaters to drop soundlessly to the floor. He melted into the crowd of Death Eaters behind him so that by the time the alarm was raised, he was nowhere near the bodies. He had never before been more grateful for the identical black robes and masks that every Death Eater had to wear; it made it so much easier to wreak havoc among them without being caught.

"They're dead! Parkinson and Yaxley- they're both dead!"

"What's going on?"

"It was a Killing Curse; I saw the green light-"

"It had to be one of us, there's no one else close enough to have-"

"A _spy?"_

"Who-?"

Smirking at the confusion around him, Snape melted backwards until he was at the periphery of the crowd. He glanced around, making sure that no one was looking his way, though he really needn't have bothered, because they were all too preoccupied with the two bodies in their midst. His wand barely poked out of the sleeve of his robe as he quickly and quietly cast three more curses.

"Look! Three more! Three more are dead!"

"Did anyone see who-?"

"Goyle!" Snape shouted, "It was Goyle, I'm sure of it! His mask slipped-"

"What! I'm all the way here! How could _I_ have-?"

Panic spread like wildfire among the Death Eaters as they all began to accuse each other of treachery. The same thing that was working to Snape's advantage was doing the opposite for them- because everyone was dressed exactly alike, they had no way of identifying the killer. Snape was filled with a grim satisfaction as he listened to the accusations fly around, especially when he realized that his name had not even been mentioned once. He had proved his loyalty completely by killing Dumbledore. A feral, savage expression descended on his face, and he was thankful for the mask, because he didn't think he would have been able to contain it. It was time for the masterstroke. Surreptitiously, he pointed his wand at a Death Eater who had his back to him. _"Imperio," _He whispered, "Kill as many as you can._"_

The man charged forward, and Snape watched from behind his mask, as curses began to fly in every direction. The sounds of pandemonium and chaos filled the air, music to Snape's ears. He Disapparated quietly, a skill he had learnt in his decades as a spy. Sneaking around had always made him feel despicable, but now, as he reappeared among another group of Death Eaters on another part of the battlefield without a loud, tell-tale crack, all he could feel was a satisfaction. He raised his wand and executed two more silent Killing Curses, and waited for the chaos to begin.

After almost a lifetime of suffering at Voldemort's hands, he was finally getting his revenge.

…

"My Lord! There is a spy- a spy in the Death Eaters' ranks! He has killed ten already, and he has cast the Imperius Curse on others, and is forcing them to kill as well. No one is sure who it is, and they have already begun to kill each other. Your presence is needed, my Lord…"

"A spy, Severus? You are certain?" Voldemort's lidless eyes peered into Snape's, and Snape showed him the images he wanted to see.

"Yes, my Lord, I am."

Voldemort's lips thinned, and Nagini, who he had taken to wearing around his neck, hissed loudly. "Lead the way, then, Severus."

Snape Disapparated and the Dark Lord followed after him, straight into a trap.

…

"Why have you brought me _here?"_ Voldemort hissed to Snape when he saw Order members everywhere.

"Put two and two together, My Lord," Snape said mockingly, as he quickly shrugged off his Death Eater robes and revealed the Phoenix insignia he was wearing on the shirt underneath.

For a moment, Voldemort was actually speechless with shock. _"You?_ _You_ have betrayed me?"

Nagini hissed.

"Ah, you arrived at four," Snape said, "So you _are_ capable of simple mathematics."

"But you killed Dumbledore," Voldemort said, "Why would the Order accept you back, after that?"

Snape suddenly realized that the Dark Lord had never even _suspected_ him of disloyalty, and that he was so shocked to find out that he was a spy that he had even let his insolence pass without reacting to it. He smirked. "I killed Dumbledore on _his_ orders, not yours, and you fell for it, hook, line and sinker. He knew you would- he planned the whole thing. How does it feel to be trumped by a wizard who's been dead thirty-five years, Voldemort?" It was the first time he had used the name, and he felt a shiver of fear and joy run up his back as he said it.

Voldemort's expression grew thunderous, and fury flashed in his blood-red eyes. Nagini hissed angrily. "You know the fate of defectors, Severus," Voldemort said in an ice-cold voice, "Once this is all over I promise that you will suffer it."

"This will only be 'all over' when you're dead, Voldemort," Harry said, stepping out from the shadows on the right, wand in hand. "And then you won't be in much of a position to touch Snape_._"

"Potter," Voldemort hissed, "It's been too long."

"Not long enough, as far as I'm concerned," Harry shot back.

"You can't kill me, Potter." Voldemort snapped, furious with the day's developments. "I'm immortal."

"Not anymore, you're not," Harry told him, "Wyatt's dead. You're as mortal as I am. "

Nagini hissed.

And then they began to duel.

…

"No!" Ginny cried out, rushing forward, and Harry suddenly realized the mistake he had made. How could he have been so stupid? There were Death Eaters as well as Order members here. Ginny took care of the Death Eater that had been about to attack him, and silence descended once again. Everyone was staring at Ginny, including Voldemort, and Harry didn't like it, even though she was under a glamour that made her look like Ernie Macmillan to anyone who wasn't on their side.

"Leave them out of it, Voldemort," He said, trying to refocus the Dark Lord's attention onto himself, "The prophecy says that this has nothing to do with them, and everything to do with you and me. One of us has to die by the other's hand. _They_ have nothing to do with it."

Nagini hissed something to Voldemort, and though Harry was too far to catch what it was, he had a sudden feeling of foreboding as he saw the slow smile spread across the Dark Lord's face. "As you wish, Potter," the Dark Lord said, mockingly. And then, belying his words, he pointed his wand at Ginny. _"Incarcerous!"_

Harry stood, frozen as ropes flew from Voldemort's wand, wrapping Ginny securely from her neck downwards, her hands tied in front of her. Voldemort levitated her lazily towards him, so that she was floating between them. He walked forward and stopped a mere inch from her back. She was taut and stiff with fear, her eyes locked onto Harry's face, and Harry couldn't look away from her.

No one moved.

"Do you know what Nagini just told me, Potter?" Voldemort asked in a conversational tone. "Something very interesting. For some reason, Macmillan here smells just like your wife. Mrs. Ginny Weasley Potter." He laughed. "You didn't think a glamour would be enough fool a snake, did you?"

"Let go of her, Voldemort," Harry snapped, and then cringed when he realized that he'd just confirmed that the wizard standing between them was really Ginny.

"I think not, Potter." He closed the space between himself and Ginny, so that he was pressed up against her back. Harry saw the look of revulsion on her face and his heart clenched.

_Damn it, I should never have brought her here._

"How would you like to see your wife writhe under the Cruciatus?"

"Don't you dare, you bastard."

"I don't think you're in a position to make threats, Potter." He pointed his wand straight at Ginny's neck. "Put your wand down, or she dies."

Helplessly, Harry did as he was told.

"Very good, Potter. I see you've learnt how to be obedient to your superiors. But did you really think I'll spare her?" He pointed his wand at Harry now, still using Ginny as a shield. "I want you to die with the knowledge that though _your_ death will be…quick and easy…_hers _will most certainly not. I might even give her to some of my Death Eaters, to play with."

"Bastard!" Harry shouted.

Voldemort sneered at him. "_Avada Kedavra."_

"_Protego!"_ Ginny shouted a split second later, and she jerked her tied hands in front of her, and telekinetically_ threw_ the Shield Charm at Harry.

It knocked him to the floor. He watched, horrified as the Killing Curse hit the magical shield which was ten times more powerful than a lower-level witch's because it was reinforced by Wiccan magic. The curse rebounded bounded towards Voldemort, who was currently using _Ginny_ as a human shield.

"No!" He screamed as the green light slammed into Ginny, and she dropped bonelessly to the floor. _"No!"_

Voldemort was standing there, slack-jawed, unable to understand how she had managed to perform such powerful magic. But when he saw Harry going for his wand, hatred reflected in his eyes, self-preservation kicked in. With all his Horcruxes gone, this boy could really kill him, given the chance. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Crouched awkwardly as he was, there was no way he could dodge the curse. He closed his eyes and saw the green light before his eyes, as he so often had in his dreams, and realized that he had failed. He waited for death, but nothing happened. He cracked his eyes open, and gasped when he saw Voldemort stretched out on the ground, dead.

For a moment his brain refused to function, and then he realized what had happened, and he almost dissolved into hysterical laughter at the irony. For the second time in his life, Voldemort had tried to cast the Killing Curse on him, and for the second time, it had rebounded, because someone had given their life in protection of his_._ He couldn't believe Voldemort had made the same mistake twice, but then, it really wasn't so surprising. _The power the Dark Lord knows not_. _The power of a sacrifice freely given…out of love. Voldemort would never understand that._

But _damn it,_ right now, he didn't understand it either. Why did people keep sacrificing themselves for him? Didn't they realize that they weren't protecting him? Didn't they realize that it only hurt him_ worse_?

He stumbled forward, and gathered Ginny into his arms. As cheers erupted over the battlefield, he hunched over his wife's body, and wept.

…

TBC…

There had to be at least one major death, didn't there?

This chapter really reached a mammoth length- and ironically, I was wondering how I'd even get it to normal chapter length before I started. But once I started writing it I couldn't stop. Apparently, I can do battle sequences after all, though it's for you to say how good/bad it was.

Next chapter- will Chris live or die? Don't ya just LOVE cliffies?

Oh, and charmed4evergurl- It turns out you were right about the "he"/ "she" thing. I asked my mom about it and she said my usage was incorrect. But I can't really go over the entire story now and change it, it would take way to long, and I want to stay consistent until the end of this story. But the next story I write I'll definitely make the corrections. Thanks a tonne for pointing it out!


	21. Not Alone

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 21: Not Alone

THANKS TO Warriora, for being the best beta ever!

WARNING: Sensitive material ahead…

…

"I want an explanation, and I want it _now."_ Harry's eyes were dark with anger, and though Snape had expected this, he was unnerved by the ferocity of it. Still, he thought grimly, Potter _had_ just found out that Snape had deceived him for months and risked Chris's life on a daily basis. Not to mention that the way it had all turned out was forcing him, for the first time in years, to question his own actions. The mental barrier_ he_ had taught Chris to put up had nearly gotten him killed- and this time, it was different from the lessons, because he had done it on purpose. He didn't blame Harry for being furious with him- he was furious with himself.

"What the hell happened to him?" Harry asked. "You said he was supposed to pull the barrier down _after_ he reached Michael and the others. Why didn't he?"

Snape chose his words carefully. "As far as I can see, there are two courses of action that could have possibly caused Halliwell to pull the barrier down before he should have. The first is that he was just unable to hold it up any longer and it fell despite his best efforts to sustain it. Much as I would prefer that option, I very much doubt that was the case. During our lessons, he was able to keep up the barrier for up to three and a half hours, with me attacking him with Legilimency every quarter of an hour or so. This time, he had the barrier up for four hours, but he didn't have to face any Legilimency attacks. I don't think he would have been exhausted enough for the barrier to just slip of its own accord. That didn't happen very often even in our initial lessons."

Harry's anger had climbed at every mention of the "lessons" Snape had given Chris without his knowledge over the last few months, but he forced himself to control it. He needed to know _exactly _what had happened to Chris, because something about this wasn't making sense. With an effort, he kept his voice even as he asked, "You said there were two things?"

Snape hesitated. "The other conclusion…is that Halliwell deliberately pulled the barrier down himself."

Harry whitened, and he sank into a chair. "You can't mean that he tried to kill himself," He said, winded. The _idea _that he had nearly lost Chris as well as Ginny…

"He has been through a great deal over the past months," Snape said. "Sanders' death hit him hard." He shifted uncomfortably. "And the Legilimency I performed on him forced him to relieve the death of his loved ones again and again."

No sooner had Snape said the words, Harry was on his feet, his wand out and pointed at Snape's neck. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you right now, you _son of a bitch."_

Snape didn't move, or attempt to get Potter's wand out of his neck. He was well aware of how badly he had screwed up. "I thought it was necessary," He said softly, "I thought it was the only way he could defeat Lord Wyatt. He told me as much himself. I trusted his judgment."

"Necessary?" Harry hissed, and a spark appeared at the tip of his wand, dangerously close to Snape's neck. "_Necessary_ for him to risk his life every single day?"

"I understand now that I was gravely mistaken," Snape said stiffly, and surprise registered on Harry's face at the unexpected admission, but he did not lower his wand. "The only excuse I can offer you is that my years as a spy have accustomed me to impossibly difficult situations where the way out is often as risky as the situation itself. Notwithstanding what you said earlier, there sometimes really _is_ no choice. When Halliwell told me that he would not stand a chance against his brother unless he could block the emotions out of his head, I believed it was one of those times. I thought I was doing what was necessary to win the war. I did not think for a moment that Halliwell would ever try to kill himself."

"I know he puts up a strong front, but he's just a kid," Harry said. "You should have _known_ that. You were inside his mind every day. You know better than I do what he's been going through the last few months. You had to have known something was wrong."

"Eventually, yes, I did realize that he was becoming dangerously depressed," Snape acknowledged, "Especially when Sanders died. But by then, it was too late. Halliwell needed to be focused on something. As far as I could see, he had grown distant from you. That's why I continued the lessons. I think you would agree that he could not afford a breakdown before the most important battle of the century when he had no one to go to for comfort."

The words could have been accusing, but they weren't. Suddenly realizing the truth in Snape's words, Harry lowered his wand, letting his hand fall to his side. "Damn it," He said, "Part of this is my fault."

"How on earth did you come to that conclusion, Potter?" Snape asked, warily tracking the man with his eyes as he began to pace.

"I should have pushed when he started distancing himself. I should have _made _him talk to me after Jennifer died." He had just been too busy with the battle preparations. He had told himself that Chris would talk to him if he needed to. He should have known better, He told himself, he should have _known._

"Before you continue with your self-flagellation, Potter, consider this," Snape said. "Halliwell is young, but he _is_ an adult. If he can be held responsible for eight thousand lives, then he must also be held responsible for his own."

Harry knew that Snape hadn't intended that to ease his guilt by those words. This was just Snape language for 'talk to him before he tries to pull another stunt like this.'

"You really care about him, don't you?" He asked, surprised.

Suddenly, he realized how Chris, with his empathy, might have been a blessing as well as a curse to a man like Snape. Snape wasn't exactly the kind to share his emotions, so someone who could read them and understand him without his ever needing to say a word would make an invaluable friend as long as he didn't misuse the ability. Everyone needed help sometimes, even Snape. With another flash of insight, he also realized how hard it would have been to put Chris through what Snape had put him through if the man actually cared about him. His anger at Snape drained away, leaving him feeling empty.

"Yes, well, contrary to popular belief, Potter, my heart was not Transfigured into stone during my childhood," Snape said rather stiffly.

Harry smiled slightly. "You know that actually _was_ a rumor floating around during my First Year."

"Hilarious, Potter," Snape scoffed. "Now if you have nothing further to say..."

"Yeah, okay." He turned to go, but paused, his face serious. "Snape…I'm letting you off lightly this time in deference to the risks you've taken for the Order over the years, how much you've sacrificed for it. But if you _ever_ deceive me again, whether by omission or otherwise, I _will_ take action."

Snape gave him a terse nod, and he left.

…

When Chris came to, the first thing he registered was the by now familiar ceiling of the Hospital Wing. The second thing he registered was the lack of pain in his head. He frowned, and then his eyes widened when he couldn't sense any of his charges. He shot up, his heart beating wildly. They couldn't_ all_ be dead, could they?

"Calm down, Chris," Harry's voice came from his right, and he jumped in surprise to see the man sitting in a chair beside his bed. "Your charges are fine. They've just been re-assigned."

Chris blinked, and then blinked again. "All of them?" He asked, "But _why?"_

Harry looked away. Chris suddenly registered that the older man looked completely exhausted, like he'd been sitting there without sleep for days. "How long have I been out?" He asked.

"Three days."

Chris gasped.

"Do you…do you remember what happened?"

Chris thought back- and squeezed his eyes shut as images came rushing back. _Oh, God. _Wyatt. "Can I…be alone for a moment, please?" He couldn't breakdown in front of Harry. The memories of what had happened after he had stabbed Wyatt _(oh, God, he had stabbed Wyatt_) were all fuzzy in his mind. He didn't know how he had gotten here.

"Why, so you can try to kill yourself again?" Harry said, his voice harsh and angry.

He jerked slightly, all thoughts of Wyatt fleeing for his mind at the horrifying prospect. He hadn't done that, had he? He tried to remember. "I…wouldn't…"

Harry got to his feet and started pacing. His hands were shaking. "You did, Chris. Damn you, you _did._ Snape told me everything- the Occulemency lessons, and all the rest of it. There's only _one_ possible explanation for what happened. You tore down the barrier yourself."

Yes, he thought, paling slightly. Yes, he _had_ done that. "I wasn't thinking straight," He said, his voice shaking, because _oh God, he had tried to kill himself, what a fucking cowardly, **weak **thing to do_- "The blood spell-"

"No," Harry interrupted. "You've lied to me these last few months, but won't let you lie to yourself. This was _not_ brought on by the blood spell. You tore down that barrier because you were pushed to a brink, a brink you could have avoided if you hadn't pushed me away."

"Mr. Potter, I don't-"

"Damn it, Chris!" Harry yelled, his voice cracking, "You tried to kill yourself, and you damn near succeeded! It took five whitelighters _and_ Adrian's efforts combined to heal you!"

"I told you, I wasn't thinking straight!" Chris shouted. The thought that he had been so cowardly, that he'd tried to skip out like that on Hope, on the Resistance- no, he wouldn't _do_ that. No matter what happened. It _had _to have been the blood spell. "You weren't there; you don't _know_ what the blood spell did to me-"

"I'll admit the blood spell had a part to play," Harry interrupted, more calmly this time, "I'll admit that having to kill your brother is harder than anything I can imagine. I'll admit that seeing your family killed and tortured everyday in Occulemency must have been _torture._ But it wasn't what drove you to suicide. _You _drove you to suicide."

"I didn't tryto kill myself!" Chris shouted, his eyes filling with tears, "I wouldn't do something so cowardly! I wouldn't just skip out on my responsibilities- on Hope- like that!" Chris's voice broke, "_Please,"_ He whispered, "Please tell me I didn't. Please."

Harry's face softened, and he looked at Chris with deep compassion. "Oh, Chris," He sighed, sitting down beside him and taking his hand in his. "You're not a coward, okay? That's not what I'm getting at here."

"I tried to kill myself," Chris said stonily, angrily blinking away tears of shame, "I _am_ a fucking-"

"You are the bravest person I know," Harry said earnestly, "I _know_ you didn't plan this; I know you haven't been consciously thinking about killing yourself. That's not what I'm so angry with you about."

"What's worse than me trying to kill myself?" Chris asked.

"Nothing is. That's why I'm so concerned about what led up to it. You didn't talk to someone when you needed to. You suppressed your emotions rather than face them, and after I t_old _you the consequences of doing that. I told you I had done it, too, and I told you how it had backfired on me- I told you that locking down your emotions was the easiest way to ensure that you failed the people counting on you. I forced you to grieve when your family died, and I know you felt better, at least for awhile. I thought you'd learnt the importance of giving in to your emotions once in awhile. I thought you wouldn't hesitate to come to me again if you needed my help. Why didn't you, Chris?"

Chris hunched over himself. "Because I needed to be strong," He muttered, honest for the first time in months, "I couldn't afford a breakdown, and I found it really hard to lie to you all the time about the Occulemency, so I distanced myself from you. With everything I was being forced to relive, and when Jennifer died, it was just easier to lock it all away. I told myself I'd have time to fall apart after Wyatt was dead."

And he had fallen apart. Spectacularly.

Harry looked at him closely. "Do you think you were right?" He said, "Do you think you had no other choice? Would you do the same, risk your life with the Occulemency, again?"

Chris looked down. "Yeah, I would." He expected Harry to shout at him again, but the man just kept looking at him.

"What exactly happened when you defeated Wyatt, Chris?" He asked. "Malfoy said that Wyatt had tried to choke you. You bated him, and he was about to kill you. He cast Expalliarmus and disarmed him. And then the next thing he remembered was that blinding white light that we_ all_ saw, and when it faded away-"

"Yeah," Chris interrupted roughly before Harry could finish the sentence- it hurt too much to hear it. An image of Wyatt's eyes, dark with fury, and then the same eyes, alight with love and then dimming in death rose before his eyes, and his heart constricted. "Apparently, I'm King Arthur's true heir," He said.

Harry blinked. "What?"

"The Lady of the Lake showed up. She was the one who's been responsible for Excalibur since King Arthur's death. She must have been really powerful, because she was able to freeze everyone on the battlefield but me, even Wyatt. She told me…" He paused, shaking his head in disbelief. He still couldn't believe the sword belonged to him.

"What?" Harry prompted him.

"She told me I was Arthur's true heir, not Wyatt. She said Excalibur really belonged to me. I didn't want to believe her, but she told me that when Arthur first drew the sword, it emitted a blinding white light. She said the same would happen when Arthur's true heir touched the sword, and she told me to take it and see for myself whether it was mine or not."

"And then what happened?"

"The second I touched the sword, the light blinded everyone, but somehow, I could still see. I…" He swallowed hard. "I stabbed Wyatt while he was blinded by the light. I…it was good as stabbing him when his back was turned." A wave of shame and self-loathing assaulted him. "I _am_ a fucking coward."

"No, you're not," Harry said sharply. "Wyatt wasn't just some witch you were fighting. He was the Source of all Evil. He was about to kill you. You used whatever means necessary to stop him. There is _nothing _cowardly about what you did." He opened his mouth to continue, but words seemed to fail him.

He got up and began to pace again. Chris watched him warily. Finally, he stopped pacing and turned to him. "These past few months, you lied to me because you thought I would never let you learn Occulemency if it meant playing with your life. You convinced yourself, and Snape, that you needed to be able to block out everyone's thoughts and emotions if you were going to be able to stand a chance against Wyatt. But Chris, in the end, the Occulemency wasn't what gave you the edge over him. When you faced off with him, you were already so exhausted with the strain of keeping the barrier up that it probably hindered you rather than helped you. Malfoy told me you guys fought for ten minutes, after which you were so exhausted that you couldn't even resist _telekinetically_ when he tried to choke you. In other words, you were as weak as a kitten. What won the battle for you _wasn't_ the Occulemency despite all your efforts and the risks you took to learn it. It was Excalibur. And you _still_ say you wouldn't have done things differently if you had the chance?"

"That's all true in retrospect," Chris argued, "But I had no way of knowing the Lady of the Lake would show up and give me Excalibur. I really thought the Occulemency barrier was the only way I could-"

"The only way _I _could? Why always _I,_ Chris? Why do you always try to take everything onto your shoulders?" He shook his head. "The way I see it, far from any fear or weakness, it's you're _bravery _that led to all this. You're_ used_ to being strong enough to deal with everything alone. You thought you could handle this, too. But you couldn't, and you didn't want to admit to yourself that you needed help. That's what led up to all this. And Chris? This can _never_ happen again."

"I know-"

"_Never._" Harry knew that this next part would only compound Chris's feelings of guilt and shame about his suicide attempt, but he needed this to sink in, for Chris's on sake. "You're a leader, Chris. You're responsible for people. And even though Wyatt is gone, the world is still in shambles. The Resistance needs you. You can't afford to let your depression get the better of you. If you won't ask for help for _you,_ do it for the innocents you're responsible for. I'm here, and you _have_ to talk to me when things get too much. You're not alone in this, and I'm not going to let you pretend you are."

"I know, okay?" Chris's eyes filled again, and he let the helplessness and grief overtake him for once, because Harry was _right._ "I'll do anything to avoid feeling like such a failure again," He said in a choked voice. "I'll come to you. I promise." He swallowed. "It was so hard. It was so hard seeing him. All these memories kept flashing through my mind of our childhood days because of the blood spell. And then, when I stabbed him, the Horcrux died, but he didn't."

Harry jerked in surprise. Malfoy hadn't told him that. "Did he…say anything?"

"He thanked me for saving him. He said he was proud of me…h-he told me he loved me." A small sob wracked him, and he bowed his head, shoulders quaking. A moment later, Harry's hand was on his back, warm and soothing, and he tried to draw strength from it. "I tried to call Dad to heal Wyatt. But because of the spell I cast, he couldn't get there until after Wyatt was dead. I was so desperate; I fucking tried to heal him myself. Dad said…Dad said I wasn't his son anymore. He said-" Another sob slipped out, and he stopped.

And then Harry reached for him, and the next thing he knew his face was buried in the crook of Harry's neck, and strong, steady arms were wrapped tightly around him. "Shh," Harry whispered. "I've got you, okay? I'm never going to let you go. You're…" His breathing hitched. "You're a son to _me."_

The words broke something inside Chris, and he let out a shuddering gasp. Harry's arms tightened around him, and he felt so safe, and so broken, and he couldn't stop crying-

"You're not a coward," Harry whispered, "You're not a failure. You're strong, and you _will _get through this. I'll make sure of it. I promise you, okay? I'm going to get you through this."

Chris felt moisture on his head and realized with a start that the older man was crying, too. He drew back so he could look Harry in the face. "Are you…what's wrong?"

Harry smiled through his tears. "Nothing. You just scared me, that's all."

Chris felt his breathing hitch and his stomach contracted with renewed shame. And then he felt awe and humility as he understood how much Harry cared about him, and felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. In that moment, he realized what he had come close to betraying.

"I'm sorry," He said softly, "I won't…_ever _again. I promise."

Harry smiled tightly, and he drew the young man back into his embrace. "Thank you," He choked, _I can't lose you too._

…

Chris blinked sleep away from his eyes, and squinted at the chair on his right. "Sir?" He asked, surprised. Harry had been there before he'd fallen- no, cried himself- to sleep the previous night.

"It's about time you were awake, Haliwell," Snape said.

"Hi, sir," Chris said with a slow smile, "What's up?"

Snape didn't dignify that with a response. Chris studied his expression, wondering what was going through the man's mind. A sudden, completely unrelated thought, struck him, and he almost gasped. He couldn't _believe_ it had taken him so long to even wonder about it. Why hadn't he asked Harry? "You guys did get Voldemort, didn't you?"

"I suppose that you could say that he 'got' himself," Snape answered.

"What do you mean?"

Snape sighed, and quickly explained what had happened. A stunned silence followed.

"Wait a second, Mrs. Potter's _dead?"_ Chris's mind was reeling. He couldn't bring himself to believe it.

But Snape drowned out all hope. "Unfortunately, yes, she is." His expression was outwardly so blank and impassive that it would have seemed uncaring to most people. But Chris had learnt how to read this man at his subtlest, and he knew better.

"But…but Mr. Potter didn't even say a word!" He exclaimed.

"He was probably more preoccupied with ensuring _your _well-being at the time," Snape stated pointedly.

Chris flinched. "Sir, about that…" He faltered. "You have to know that I'm so _ashamed_ of what I did. My mother didn't raise me to take the easy way out. You have my word that I'll never do something like this, ever again."

Snape didn't say anything, just looked at him intently. Chris correctly interpreted what the man was too proud to ask aloud, and met his eyes allowing Snape to look into his mind, knowing it was the only thing that would satisfy the Potions Master. He withstood Snape's probing quite easily, since the man was being uncharacteristically gentle, a gesture that spoke his concern and regard for Chris better than a thousand words could have. Finally, the man seemed satisfied, and withdrew from his mind, giving him a small nod.

"See that you don't," He said brusquely, and that was that.

The abruptness with which that topic of conversation ended would have been unnerving to most people, but not to Chris. He and Snape had never needed words to communicate with each other. Their connection had been one forged out of necessity, almost compulsion on Snape's side, and for a long time, it had been entirely magical; a combination of Snape's Legilimency and Chris's empathy. Neither one of them had wanted the circumstances that had led to their bond, the bond between charge and whitelighter, between teacher and his student. Even so, it was a relief to know that they were still- that they would _always_ be- able to communicate without words.

…

Chris knew he shouldn't be here. If Madam Pomefry found out he was out of bed, he would never hear the end of it from her, Harry or Snape. But he needed to see his daughter. She was all he had left, the last piece of Wyatt and Emma and Jennifer and so many others he had loved and lost. The nursery was silent and still at that hour, and Hope was fast asleep in her cradle. He didn't try to lift her, much as he wanted to hold her, knowing she would start wailing inconsolably if he woke her at this hour. He just stood over her and looked down at her, covered in a pink blanket which had been embroidered with images of teddy bears, her thumb in her mouth. He would have to wean her out of that habit, and soon, or it would become a problem. Wyatt had sucked his thumb until he was six, and they'd had to try every trick in the book to get him to stop. His eyes filled with tears at the memory. He hadn't thought of his childhood this much in years.

He studied her sleeping face, the blond hair, the high cheek bones, the blue eyes which were slightly open even as she slept. She would grow up to be a carbon copy of her father.

It didn't hurt so much to think of her as Wyatt's daughter now, he realized. The fact that he had finally gotten to talk to his brother one last time had been both a torment and a relief. Seeing the love shine in Wyatt's eyes again, seeing him restored back to good, if only for a minute before death claimed him, had helped erase some of Chris's bitterness towards Wyatt that had grown over the years and especially the last few months.

It hadn't been his brother who had tortured and killed his family, his fiancée, and who had raped two women that he loved. It had been the Horcruxe's evil. It had been Voldemort. And although Wyatt would never be remembered by anyone for all the good he had done before he had been turned, Chris could still remember. His brother _had _been good once. When they were children, Wyatt had been as dedicated as everyone else in the family to protecting innocents and vanquishing evil.

He looked down at Hope. He had once promised himself that he would protect her at all costs from the knowledge of her true parentage. But now he wasn't so sure. She deserved to know who Wyatt had been before all this started. Then again…how could he tell _her_, his, sweet innocent baby girl, that she had been the result of his own brother raping his own girlfriend? The entire thing was so messed up…but he did know one thing. Whatever he decided to tell her, he would make sure she knew the good Wyatt had been meant for. The rest of her generation might grow up calling him the Source of all Evil, blaming him for their parents' deaths and for what the world had become. But he would make sure she didn't. He would make sure she knew what Wyatt Matthew Halliwell could have been.

…

"Mr. Potter?"

"Oh, Chris, it's you." Harry frowned at him. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Madam Pomefry gave me a clean bill of health." Actually, he had practically blackmailed her into letting him leave, but Harry didn't need to know that. "So…you never really told me what happened with Voldemort."

He still didn't know how he felt about that omission on Harry's part. On the one hand, it hurt a little that Harry hadn't trusted him enough to let him help. On the other, he knew exactly why Harry hadn't told him. And a part of him couldn't help but feel unspeakably grateful to Harry for doing what his own father had failed to by putting aside his wife's death and focusing on Chris's grief.

"There isn't much to tell," Harry said, dully.

Chris waited for a moment, and when Harry didn't elaborate, he said, "How are you doing?"

"Honestly?" Harry shrugged. "I have no idea. I don't think it's quite sunk in yet."

Chris nodded. "And Lily? How is she?"

"Upset. I don't think she was really prepared for this. All her life, she's always been prepared for the eventuality of my death. But Ginny's? Never in a million years."

"I don't think you give her enough credit," Chris said carefully, "I know her, just like I know all my other charges; and she's tough. She's _your_ daughter. She knows what comes with that, and she doesn't resent it. She always knew this was a possibility. And she also knows she has a responsibility to you. I can't sense what she's feeling right now, but I know this- she _will_ get through this."

"That _is_ comforting to hear," Harry said. He smiled mirthlessly. "My baby girl…seems to have grown up."

"How are _you _doing, Mr. Potter? _Seriously?"_

"I...it was my fault Ginny died. I brought her there. I wanted her to be there when I finally killed Voldemort. She always had faith that I would kill him, even when Ron and Hermione and the entire wizarding world started to doubt." He choked slightly. "I wanted her to see me do it at last. She wouldn't have died if I'd just let her stay where she was supposed to be."

His voice broke, and tears began to slide down his cheeks, but he took care that they didn't turn into sobs. There was no need for him to break down, too. And then Chris put one hand on his shoulder, offering the simple comfort of contact, and he bowed his head and felt his breathing hitch into a sob despite his best efforts.

"If you hadn't brought her there, she wouldn't have died," Chris said quietly. "But _you_ would have, instead. The way things went down, nothing happened the way it was supposed to. The thing that finally led to Voldemort's death was the one thing no one would have predicted in a million years. You can't blame yourself for her death, Mr. Potter. It just happened. There was no way you could have seen it coming. And if it wasn't for her, Voldemort would be there."

Harry looked up then, and the wealth of pain in his eyes found reflection in Chris's. "Don't you think I know all that?" He said wearily, "Do you honestly think any of it helps?"

Chris thought about the sword, and Wyatt's dead, unseeing eyes, and then he thought about his family, who had died because he had pushed for a mission to retrieve the Book of Shadows, ignorant of the technical innovations Wyatt had made to his probes, improving the security in his lair. No one could have seen any of_ that _coming either, and knowing that didn't make things any better. "No," He said softly.

They stood there, and the silence stretched on for an eternity. Chris sighed. "You know, you totally ruined my whole we're-going-to-get-through-no-matter-what speech."

"Chris, I don't know whether or not we'll get through this," Harry admitted, "Or what shape we'll be in if we do," He said. "But I do know one thing. Either way, I'm thankful I'm not facing this alone."

Chris was silent for a beat.

"Me, too."

…

END.

But I don't consider this story done yet. I have so many loose ends to tie up. So stay tuned for the epilogue, which will most likely be in two parts, because it's kind of a story in itself.

I'm kind of surprised so many of you thought I might actually kill Chris. Come on, guys, I'd never do that! I love him way too much. Besides, it's so much fun to put him through hell and then slowly, painfully bring him back. :D

I hope my treatment of suicide didn't ruffle any feathers. I know I might have come on a little strong with my whole suicide-is-the-act-of-a-coward thing, but I do believe it's an easy way out. And Chris would _never _take the easy way out, it's not in his nature. There was also the fact that throughout this story, he has been sacrificing himself for others. There has to be a line somewhere, right?

Also, everyone please review! I want this story to cross the 200 review mark. As it is I have to thank you all because this is the most popular story I've ever posted. All you lurkers (you know who you are!), please review! I'll give an internet cookie to my 200th reviewer, whoever he or she is, if that's any incentive. Come on guys, help me make history here…


	22. Epilogue, Part 1

Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 22: Epilogue, Part 1

WARNING: This chapter contains a brief, but slightly graphic description of rape.

THANKS TO Warriora, as always, for beta-reading.

…

Harry couldn't sleep. It had been Ginny's funeral two days ago, and the emptiness of his bed was killing him. He was haunted by sounds- the sound of Lily's sobs, and the sound of the mud hitting the casket with awful finality, the sound of Ron sobbing behind him, and Hermione's soothing whispers. He lay awake for some time and decided that if he couldn't sleep he might as well get up and go to the kitchen and get something to drink. He padded through the dark, silent corridors, ignoring a few sets of snogging students who popped up from time to time (he really wasn't in the mood to play disciplinarian tonight), and heaved a soft sigh of relief when he reached the kitchen. The place, at this time of night, would be completely deserted and peaceful, which was exactly what he needed. But when he stepped through the portrait entrance, he saw that someone was already there.

"Chris? What are you doing up so late?"

Chris looked up from the cup of coffee he had been nursing. "I could ask you the same question. I couldn't sleep."

Harry looked closely at the younger man, noticing the dark circles outlining his eyes and the lines of exhaustion on his face. "And how long has this been going on?" He asked, taking a seat across from him, and pouring himself a cup.

Chris lowered his eyes. "A few days," He said, quietly.

"Nightmares?" Harry guessed.

"Uh…more like withdrawal." Chris grimaced slightly as Harry's eyebrows went up. "I've kind of been taking a lot of Dreamless Sleep Potion over the last few months-"

"You what?" Harry interrupted, dismayed, "Chris!"

"I figured I wouldn't be strong enough to fight Wyatt if I didn't get enough sleep."

Which was true, but…"You should have come to me."

Chris met his eyes. "I know."

There was a short pause.

"I'll have Snape brew a Potion to help you with the withdrawal symptoms first thing tomorrow," Harry said.

Chris frowned. "I don't need-"

"Yeah, you do. I've been addicted to Dreamless Sleep Potion myself. Trust me. You'll keep craving it unless you take the Anti-Addiction Potion."

"I don't want Professor Snape to know about this," Chris said in a breathy rush, embarrassment causing him to flush beet red.

Harry looked at him, and his face softened. "Then I'll brew it for you myself," He said, and grinned slightly at the surprise on Chris's face. "No, Snape wasn't lying when he told you how awful I was at Potions in school. But I_ have _improved a little since then, though he's loath to acknowledge that_,_ the greasy git."

Chris snorted, amused. "You know, you're as bad as he is," He said, and then growing more serious, "Thank you."

Harry smiled at him. "Anytime." He hesitated for a moment. "And…thank _you_, for coming to me with this."

_If you had tried to suffer in silence on this one, it would have become a whole lot worse. _

Chris met his gaze, his green eyes glittering intensely. "I promised myself I'd never lie to you again," He said. "I won't."

…

"How was San Francisco?" Harry asked, although he already knew by the look on Chris's face.

"Bad," the young man said in a hollow voice, "There are more people alive than we expected, but the conditions they're living in…" He shuddered as the images rose unbidden in his mind. So many people covering in small, dank rooms, infected with typhoid and cholera and God knew what else. So many people starving, wandering the remnants of roads, despair and insanity in their eyes. So many corpses, heaped on streets, on piles of rubble, _everywhere._ The inescapable stench of death, everywhere.

"And what about the other cities?" Harry asked.

"None of the others are quite as bad as San Fran.," Chris said. Since he and Wyatt had both based their operations in the city, it had been caught up the worst in the crossfire. "But they've all been hit pretty badly," He continued, his face grim, "The remoter places, like Alaska, have fared better, but nothing- no one- has escaped unscathed."

To make matters worse, the magic controlling Wyatt's probes seemed to have gone rogue after his death, and the probes were now shooting their deadly laser beams at anything remotely human- demons, witches, and civilians included. The Resistance was already down there trying to neutralize them, but the probes could only be deactivated from the control room in Wyatt's lair in the Underworld. Which meant he would have to send his men down there; and although the Underworld was in chaos after the Source's defeat, there were still demons running around everywhere that would make the mission far from easy. There were also countless innocents imprisoned in Wyatt's dungeons, desperately in need of rescue, and that would be even riskier.

His head was already beginning to ache at the thought of all the planning and strategizing and briefing and de-briefing that lay ahead of him, which put him in an even worse mood, because he had only just begun used to_ not_ having a headache.

_If I had known there would be so much clean up after defeating Wyatt, I would have offed myself years ago, _he thought moodily, and then winced a moment later. Jokes like that just weren't funny anymore.

"You know you're welcome to bring as many refugees here as you like," Harry said, not liking the weariness he read in Chris's face.

"Thanks, Mr. Potter, I appreciate that, but you know you're not really in a position to offer me aid."

Hogwarts was already filled to the bursting with British refugees. Voldemort had left England in better shape than Wyatt had left America in, but the country was still in shambles. Harry and Chris were both so busy now that even though they were both staying at Hogwarts, days would go by before they saw each other.

There was just so much to be done; supplies had to be obtained, pleas for international aid had to be sent out, electricity had to be arranged for…and all this was just the beginning. Harry and Chris had quickly realized that the rehabilitation process would take the better part of their lives, perhaps continue after their deaths. They might have won the war, but its aftermath was proving to be at least as difficult to fight through.

…

Harry jolted awake. At first, he wasn't sure what had woken him, but then he heard a soft, hesitant knock on his door. Decades of being at war had taught him to be vigilant, or he would never have heard it. Frowning, he glanced at his watch, and his eyes widened when he saw what time it was. _3 a.m._ Something had to be terribly wrong for someone to be at the door so late at night.

Scrambling to his feet, he threw on his dressing gown and glasses and yanked opened the door. _"Chris?" _

"I'm sorry for bothering you, I-I didn't mean-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Chris," Harry cut off the young man's stammering. "Come in."

When Chris didn't move, he gently led the man inside, stifling a gasp at Chris's appearance, which he hadn't been able to see in the relative darkness of the corridor. Chris looked terrible. His shirt was clinging to him with sweat, and he was covered with dust and judging by the smell, soot. He had quite a few scrapes and bruises, too, but what worried Harry most were his eyes. They were wild and scarred and absolutely haunted. He steered Chris towards a chair and pushed him down on it, and then knelt down in front of him so that they were at eye-level.

"What happened?" He asked softly.

For a moment, Chris continued to stare at him vacantly, and then he gasped slightly as he came back to himself. "I- my team and I, we just got back from rescuing the innocents Wyatt imprisoned in the Underworld." He wrapped his arms tightly across his torso and hunched over himself. "There was…there was this girl. She…" Chris stopped, and swallowed hard, unable to continue.

"What happened, Chris?" Harry prompted him, trying to ignore the cold feeling in his stomach.

"There was a demon- he raped her. He was fucking lying on top of her when we…" His eyes filled and he buried his face in his hands. _"Fuck,_" He choked.

Harry's throat tightened. "Chris," He whispered, hesitating only a moment before he gently pulled him, unresisting, onto the floor beside him. "I've got you," He said, wrapping his arms around the trembling man. "Shhh." He hadn't seen Chris in such a state since that day in the Hospital Wing when he had first woken up after the final battle.

"I should have known what she was planning something," Chris said, his voice shaking and breaking on every word, "I should have stopped her. Damn it, I should have…" A sob escaped his lips.

"Chris," Harry said, holding him tighter still, "It wasn't your fault. You could only feel her emotions, not hear what she was thinking."

"I've known her all my life. I _felt_ how upset she was. I thought it was because of Hope and me, but I should have known better. God, she _told_ me she was in love with Wyatt. I should have realized what she was planning to do."

"You couldn't have, Chris," Harry said, "Your empathy is powerful, but you're not all-knowing. In the end, it was her decision. Her sacrifice. There's nothing you could have done."

"But he tortured her," Chris said brokenly, "He raped her."

"Yes, he did," Harry said, "But he didn't break her. Neither Wyatt nor Voldemort expected anyone on our side to be able to combine Wiccan and wizarding magic, which means she didn't tell him _anything_ about our battle plans. In her letter, she said that if she couldn't save him, she wanted to help you stop him. And she did. If Voldemort had known that Ginny could do a wandless Shield Charm, or if Wyatt had expected Malfoy's Expelliarmus, we'd both be dead."

Chris was silent for a moment. Then, he admitted in a choked whisper, "I never thought she would be so brave. I never knew she…had it in her. My family broke when he tortured them, Bianca broke; and they've been dealing with evil all their lives. Jennifer…she was just a mortal. An innocent. I never thought she'd actually…"

Harry smiled sadly. "It's always a surprise," He agreed, "Who'll break and who won't in circumstances like that."

"I miss her," Chris whispered, his voice breaking, "I miss all of them. So much."

"I know," Harry said, holding him as he began to weep in earnest, "I know."

…

It had been a very long day, and what Chris wanted to do most was sleep. So when he heard footsteps beginning to approach him, he turned on his heel and tried to hurry away, pretending not to have noticed.

"Halliwell!" The voice of an extremely exasperated Severus Snape demanded, "Why in Merlin's name are you trying to avoid me?"

"Oh, sir, it's you!" Chris turned around at once, and despite his exhaustion, a genuine smile lit up his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize. How are you? I haven't seen you in weeks!"

"I have been rather busy. Rehabilitation has proven to be rather more of a challenge than we expected."

Chris snorted. "Tell me about it."

Snape frowned, looking closely at him. "You look exhausted. Have you been running yourself to the ground again? I thought by this time you would have learnt not to do that."

"I'm not running myself to the ground, sir. I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep." He knew Snape would chalk that down to nightmares, and felt slightly bad for the lie by omission. But he valued Snape's respect too much to tell him about his addiction to the Dreamless Sleep Potion. The man had already been so disappointed in him after his suicide attempt, though he had concealed it well. Chris knew him, though, and the last thing he wanted was to disappoint him again. He changed the subject. "You look worse than I do. Are you…I mean, how are you doing?"

Snape lifted his right shoulder almost imperceptibly; his version of a shrug. "I am hailed as a hero, second only to Potter himself. Surviving as a spy for so many decades- I will admit that it was by no means a small feat, and that the recognition is by no means unwelcome. But I have spent the last few decades looking over my shoulder and leading a double life, and the fact that it is no longer necessary for me to do so is making me somewhat…edgy."

He had no idea what to say to that. Chris had always been the leader, the symbol of hope, the one on the frontlines. The only contact he had ever had with the life of a spy was through Bianca, and even that was fairly fleeting, since Wyatt discovered her treachery after only a few months. He didn't really get how Snape was feeling.

"Oh," He said rather lamely, "That really sucks."

Snape smiled slightly. "Not entirely," He said, "Despite everything, it is an enormous relief to be finally free of the Dark Lord."

"You know you _can_ call him Voldemort now," Chris remarked rather cautiously, "He has no power over you anymore. Even the Dark Mark's gone. You're free now, as free as you were before all this started."

From anyone else, Snape would never have tolerated such a remark. But Chris knew him like no one else did; he had lived through Snape's nightmares, dreamt his dreams, even seen flashes of his childhood. So he forced himself to consider the question and respond.

"The Mark may be gone from my arm," He said quietly, "But I cannot turn back the clock. I did take the Mark. I have been complicit in atrocities which even you, with all that you have seen, would be horrified by."

"And you also saved countless innocents," Chris pointed out, "You spied on Voldemort for decades. I think most people would agree that you've _more _than made up for your sins. So even though you can't turn back the clock, you _can_ let go of the past with a clear conscience."

"It is not that simple," Snape argued, but he sounded as though he very much wanted it to be.

"No, it's not," Chris acknowledged, "But someday, it will be. Someday you'll be able to say his name."

Snape stared into space, his eyes darkening briefly with some nameless emotions. Then, so softly that Chris would have missed it if he hadn't been standing right beside the man, he said, "Someday."

…

"Dad, please. The war is _over. _I'm not a target anymore. I'm of age and it's high time I did something useful. I want to make a difference, Dad. Is that so hard to understand?"

"Lily, _you_ have to understand. I'm trying to protect you. I _can't_ lose you, too."

"Dad, everyone has lost loved ones in this war, and they're all still doing their bit. You won't even let me venture out of the castle_._ I was born here, and I've never once stepped outside these walls. Do you know how ridiculous that is? That Harry Potter's daughter, have never even seen England?"

"There really isn't that much to see, Lily. And you don't have to care what people think. I'm trying to protect you from that, too, the weight of people's expectations-"

"Dad, you _can't_ protect me from that. I'm _your _daughter. If, God forbid, anything happened to you, the Order would turn to _me_ for guidance. I need to be ready for that Dad. You can't protect me forever."

"No. But I can try."

…

"Chris, you can't. You're not ready yet."

"Mr. Potter, Ian could have died!" Chris exclaimed, "If Michael hadn't used his whiteligher powers in the offensive, he _would_ have died. And it's not fair to ask him to do that. He's a pacifist. The high-ranking witches in the Resistance and the Order _need_ extra protection; they need me _and_ Michael as their whitelighters."

"Chris, I spoke to Snape and Madam Pomefry," Harry said as levelly as he could, "And they both told me the same thing. Having twenty thousand charges in your head put an enormous strain on your body. You need to be completely charge-free for awhile to let your body heal."

"A dozen odd charges will be a piece of cake after twenty thousand," Chris argued stubbornly, "You know I have to do this, Mr. Potter. Or people are going to die."

"There are others-"

"No there aren't! Why are you fighting me so hard on this?

"Because I can't risk you like that!" Harry exploded before he could stop himself.

The fight abruptly left Chris, leaving him with a hollow, empty feeling. "I thought you trusted me," He said.

"I did, I mean, I do," Harry cut in quickly. "That's not what this is about."

But Chris went on as if he hadn't heard him. "You think I'm some kind of suicidal, mentally disturbed-"

"No, I don't! I don't think that at all!" Harry took a deep, calming breath, trying to get his emotions under control. "Look, I know you won't try to kill yourself. But if someone you know tried to poison themselves, you'd keep them _away_ from poison of any kind. Whatever the circumstances, and no matter how much time had passed since the incident had happened. There are some things…you just can't risk."

Chris stared at Harry, touched in spite of himself by the man's concern for him. "Being a whitelighter is in my blood, Mr. Potter," he said, "You can't protect me forever."

Harry grimaced. "I wish people would stop telling me that," He muttered under his breath, with a weariness that surprised them both.

"Mr. Potter-" Chris began, hesitantly.

"It's fine, Chris," Harry interrupted with a resigned sigh, "You're a grown man, and I _do_ trust you." He smiled slightly. "There was a time when you would have just gone ahead and done what you thought what was necessary. I suppose I should be thankful that you came to me at all."

"I trust you too, Mr. Potter," Chris said, meeting the older man's eyes with a frank, open expression that Harry was still getting used to seeing.

And just like that, he felt a little less weary.

…

Two months had passed since the final battle when Chris finally worked up the nerve to say it. "Mr. Potter, I don't think I can stay at Hogwarts any longer."

Harry stilled. "Why not?" he asked.

"I'm too inaccessible here," Chris answered, "I need to set up permanent residence at SH-5, so that people are able to reach me more easily. Especially given the fact that they're not my charges anymore, so they can't just call my name whenever they need me. I have to be there, Mr. Potter."

Harry sighed, but he was unsurprised. Chris was a leader, and it was only right for him to be with the people he was responsible for. He had known this would come, and he did not react by yelling at Chris or trying to convince him to stay. "Well, I hope you'll come and visit as often as you can," he said instead.

"I will," Chris said, looking relieved, that Harry hadn't made this difficult. "Call me whenever you need me. Even if it's something small."

"I will, Chris."

They were silent for a moment. Then, Harry asked, quietly, "When are you planning to leave?"

"Soon," Chris answered, "Two or three days at most."

Harry nodded, and clasped the younger man's shoulder briefly. "Well…good luck."

Chris nodded, but didn't bother to say anything in reply.

They both knew it wasn't goodbye.

…

"I haven't seen you in two weeks, Chris," Harry said reproachfully.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Potter, it's just that things are kind of crazy at the moment. What with the demons trying to regroup in the Underworld, and the trouble we're having getting fucking _food_ supplies, of all things…"

"You look exhausted," Harry said, and this time his tone had gone from reproachful to outright chiding. "Haven't you been sleeping?"

A guilty look passed over Chris's face. "Uh…not really. I've been a little busy."

"Chris."

Chris squirmed. "I'm sorry, alright? It's just that with everything going on-"

"You need to start delegating."

Chris blinked. "What?"

"The Resistance has a council, doesn't it? You don't have to go on _every single_ rescue mission and supply run. We both know the dangers of taking on more responsibility than you can handle. You need to trust the people who answer to you. If you try to do everything yourself, you'll never stay sane, and besides, you don't want to become autocratic."

Chris's first reaction was defensiveness, and a thousand reasons why delegation wouldn't work were on the tip of his tongue. But then he felt the disappointment radiating off Harry. He winced, and forced himself to actually _hear_ what the man was saying…and came to a rather irritating conclusion.

"Damn it. You're right."

Harry looked pleasantly surprised. "I tend to be from time to time," he said, some of his disappointment already fading away.

Chris made a face at him, and soon after that the conversation turned to (relatively) lighter topics. Chris had only intended to stay for a couple of hours when he first arrived, but now he decided to stay the entire evening. Even though he was itching to go back to check on what was happening, he knew, intellectually at least, that Adrian and the others were perfectly capable of handling things without him. His struggle with himself did not escape Harry's notice, and the man's approval made Chris's frustration more than worth it.

Slowly, surely, he was getting better.

…

TO BE CONCLUDED…

Many thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. Stay tuned for Part 2 of the epilogue! Hope you're all enjoying the fluff.


	23. Epilogue, Part 2

Wed Title: The Last Horcrux

Chapter 23: Epilogue, Part 2

THANK YOU to Warriora for beta-reading this chapter and all the others before it. This story has been so much better for all your advice and proof-reading skills. You rule!

…

"Hey, Lily."

She turned, attempting a smile that ended up looking a grimace. "Hey, Chris," she said wearily, a little bitterly, "I guess you couldn't keep ignoring how messed up I've been lately, huh?"

Chris frowned at the tone. "Come on, Lily, don't do that," he said chidingly, "I just wanted to say 'hi.'"

It was a lie and they both knew it, but she didn't call him on it.

"Yeah, sorry." She tried to smile again, this time with a little more success. "So how're things with you?"

"Fine," Chris said, "Rehabilitation is proving to be a hell of a job, even these many months after…" His voice trailed off, his expression clouding slightly. He didn't want to remind either of them of that.

Lily tensed slightly, but otherwise left his unspoken words unacknowledged. "Yeah," She said, "It's the same for my dad."

An awkward silence ensued.

"How are you doing?" Chris asked.

Lily looked at him levelly. "You know how I'm doing. That's why you're here."

Chris didn't try to deny it this time. "I can tell that you're frustrated," He said, "Why?"

"You _know_ why, Chris. Talking about it isn't going to help me."

He looked at her, surprised that she had managed to see through his questions so easily. Then he sighed. "You have to understand, Lily. Your father-"

"-wants to protect me. Don't you think I know that? But I _am_ his daughter, I _grew up_ with this war hanging over our heads, and I can't just sit around in the castle feasting in the Great Hall when people out there are starving and dying and-" She cut herself off, taking a deep, calming breath. "I just want todo something to help, Chris. Something _useful._ Why is that so hard to understand?"

Chris regarded her silently for a second, once again troubled by how frustrated and bitter she sounded. "I'll talk to your father," He said at last.

Surprised pleasure flitted across her face. "Really?"

"Yeah. It's obvious this is important to you, and I do get where you're coming from. But I can't make any promises."

"You don't have to," She said, all but beaming, "Thank you, Chris."

Her eyes were shining with a warmth that made him fight the urge to shift uncomfortably, because, like a lot of other things, it was an unwanted reminder of how she felt about him.

"You're welcome."

…

"She's losing her mind, Mr. Potter," Chris told Harry seriously, "She's so frustrated, so desperate…frankly, I'm concerned that she'll do something reckless if you _don't_ let her do this."

"But I can't just let her become an Order member!" Harry protested, "She's never even _seen_ the outside world; she needs to be trained, she needs to be protected, and I just _don't_ have the time to do all that-"

"There are other people who can protect her, you know," Chris said, "The other Order members- the Aurors-"

"Aurors just aren't good enough, Chris. I can put her in a safe-house that's Unplottable, and put up the most powerful wards known to wizard-kind, and she'll still not be safe." He shook his head and sighed. "For so long, I thought Hogwarts was safe, and then I found out that Wyatt and the other demons could have gotten in and out at _will_ if they wanted to, all these years. The only reason they didn't was because we weren't involved in their war, and that's changed. You know as well as I do that there were those who followed Wyatt out of faith as well as fear. She's a target, and there's no way she'll really be safe outside of Hogwarts. Even here, the protections aren't fool-proof anymore now that everyone living here aren't your charges. There's no way I can let her go into the outside world without proper protection."

Chris didn't say anything for a long moment. He knew that things couldn't continue like this for much longer. Harry hadn't realized it, but Chris could _feel_ Lily's frustration and depression firsthand, and he had not exaggerated when he said he was scared she would do something reckless. But he could see where Harry was coming from, too. The older man feared losing Lily the way he had lost Ginny, and that fear was so profound that Chris knew there wasn't a lot he could say or do to convince him. Except for…

"What if I could offer Lily fool-proof protection?" He said slowly, stifling a sigh, because he really didn't want to do this.

"How?" Harry asked him.

"I take over her training," Chris said, "She lives with me at the Resistance, and because she's my charge she'll be magically protected there. I can unlock her Wiccan powers and help her to control them. The Potters were a really old pureblood family, one of the few Light ones, weren't they?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, even though _your_ mother was Muggleborn, Lily's magic should be quite powerful with a Weasley for a mother," Chris continued, "And with Wiccan powers, she'd be better able to protect herself in fights."

"I don't want Lily fighting," Harry said immediately.

"I know, but she has _me_ for a whitelighter. I'll do everything I can to protect her, you know that. I won't let anything happen to her."

Harry did know that if anyone could protect Lily, Chris could. But… "I can't put that on you, Chris."

"It's already on me," Chris replied, "She's my charge…and well, she's _your_ daughter."

Silence. Chris could tell that had touched Harry. After a long moment, he said, "Alright."

Chris smiled, but his stomach was churning. This was the last thing he had wanted. How would this turn out? Living with someone who had feelings for him that he could never return but never escape? The idea was completely deranged. Especially because Lily _knew_ he had empathy, too; he had felt her embarrassment over it time and time again. Being in such close quarters with each other would be excruciating.

_Well_, he thought wryly, _at least it'll be interesting._

…

"Wait, I'm going to be_ living _with you?" Lily all but shrieked.

_Crap. This is even more embarrassing than I thought it would be._

"You should know that I am empathetic to my charges even when I'm nowhere near them physically," He said. "So it won't make any difference-"

"Please can we not…" She muttered, blushing crimson.

He winced, regretting speaking so plainly. "I'm sorry." Bringing that up had obviously been a bad idea. "Look. You want to join the Order, don't you? Well, these are the only conditions your father will agree to."

"Why are you doing this?" She asked suddenly. "Why are you taking so much trouble to help me?"

_Because you're Harry Potter's daughter, and even though that shouldn't matter, it does._

"Because you're my charge," Chris responded, "And you need help."

An awkward silence.

"Well then," She said, smiling falsely bright, "When do I move in?"

…

"Come on, Lily, focus!"

"I'm-" she gasped, "trying!"

"You have to _picture_ yourself in the air," Chris said, "You have to _will_ it with everything that you are. I know it's difficult but-" He broke off as she suddenly lifted two feet into the air. "That's it! Now, try to hold it for a couple of seconds-"

She faltered, her control snapping, and she fell back down, landing hard on her feet. He caught her arm quickly, keeping her knees from buckling. "Well done," He said.

She smiled, not so much because of the praise, but because for once he hadn't let go of her arm immediately. "Thanks," She said.

He smiled back at her, but dropped her arm at once when he sensed the reason for her smile.

She drew away from him, embarrassed, and for a few moments, neither of them spoke.

"Let's try this again," Chris said.

…

"So how is Lily doing?" Harry asked, "She seems…much happier now."

"Yes, she is," Chris said, genuinely pleased, "Just training to be a part of the Order, knowing she's finally doing something useful, has made a world of difference in her."

Despite all the awkwardness and embarrassment between them, he and Lily had somehow managed to become friends. She was very disarming, and the fact that she never for one moment expected him to return her affections had made him relax around her a little, not to mention respect her.

"Well, that's good, then," Harry said, "Thank you, Chris, I would never have let Lily join the Order if it wasn't for you. It was the right thing to do."

Chris smiled. "Her training is going really well," He said conversationally, "She's quite powerful –levitation and astral projection are unusual powers to have, and it's even more unusual for someone to have them both. I'm teaching her martial arts, too."

Harry grimaced a little. "She'll be one of our most valuable assets when you get done with her, won't she?" _So much harder to protect._

"Yeah, she will." Chris smiled slightly, remembering Lily's infectious enthusiasm when he had hinted as much. The thought had pleased her to no end.

"She'll be right in the thick of things," Harry sighed.

"I'll keep her safe," Chris assured him.

"I have no doubt you will," Harry answered.

…

Lily looked up at Chris's hasty entrance, surprised to see Hope in his arms. "Hey, Chris, what's up?"

"Lily, there are some demons acting up with some innocents in North Dakota and I have to get there ASAP," He said urgently, "So I don't have time to find Charlie. Can you please go and get him to watch Hope?"

"I can do better than that," Lily replied, smiling at him, "I can watch her myself."

Chris hesitated. "Lily are you sure you-"

"-know what I'm doing? Yeah, I do. I helped Charlie out with the kids loads of times back at Hogwarts. I even watched Hopes a few times when he needed an off. And I sometimes help out at the nursery here, too. Hey sweetheart," She added, holding out her arms, "Remember me?"

"Lily!" Hope gurgled happily, to Chris's surprise. Wordlessly, he handed his daughter over, and watched, amazed, as Lily bounced her easily in her arms and made some funny faces at her.

She looked at Chris and grinned. "We'll be fine."

Chris shook his head, still amazed. "I had no idea you were so good with kids." What he really meant was_,__ I had no idea you were so good with Hope._

His daughter tended to get quite edgy around strangers, especially women, probably due to the fact that she had already lost so many would-be mothers. She often woke up at night and cried inconsolably, and though when it had first started he had worried that she was falling ill, he had quickly realized the truth. And now, to see her so happy in Lily's arms…he smiled at Lily with sudden warmth. "Thank you."

She smiled, obviously pleased. "You're welcome."

…

"That was really, really good," Chris said, out of breath.

"Yeah, maybe for you," Lily grumbled good-naturedly, "You're not the one lying on the floor."

Chris held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. "You actually tired me out," He said. He studied her for a moment, and then said, "I think you're more than ready to join the Order."

Disbelief, followed by joy, danced across Lily's face. "Really?!" she shrieked excitedly.

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Yes, really," He said, "You're in complete control of your powers, and your sparring is as good as it will ever be. There's nothing more I can teach you."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She exclaimed excitedly, throwing her arms around him.

He stiffened slightly, but could sense only pure excitement and joy coming from her, so, hesitantly, he hugged her back. "Don't thank me. You've earned it."

"So I guess this is like… graduation?" She grinned at the idea.

Chris frowned. "I wish you wouldn't be so flippant about it," he began, but she cut him off, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, I get it," She said, "I grew up with this war, remember? I lost my mother and so many of my family and friends to it. I _know_ it's not a game. The only reason I'm so happy is that I'm finally getting to join the Order. I'm nineteen years old, and I've wanted to be an Auror since I was twelve. I don't think you really understand what it's like to feel useless; neither does Dad, you're both always so much in the center of things."

"I do understand, actually," Chris said before he could stop himself, "I've felt your frustration, and now I can feel your enthusiasm."

He cringed inwardly a moment later as she flushed and looked away from him, smile dimming. There was a reason that they both avoided the subject of Chris's empathy like the plague, a reason they pretended that it didn't exist at all. It was the only thing that kept their friendship intact- and Lily had become quite a close friend over the last ten months, which was how long it had taken to train her. It had started out with Hope, really, and how good Lily was with her. After that they had got to talking, and in a romance novel, the rest would have been history…except for the fact that he was already in love with Bianca.

"Lily, I know things are-" He began.

"Don't, okay?" She interrupted as she had had almost a year ago, the only other time he had come close to acknowledging the way she felt about him. "Just…don't."

"I'm sorry," He said.

"No," She said with quiet regret, "I'm the one who's sorry."

…

"You look happy," Chris told Harry, who was indeed beaming with uncharacteristic brightness.

"Lily did amazingly well on her mission today," Harry explained, "It was her first solo one."

"Ah. Well, I guess congratulations are in order than." He glanced around. "Where is she?"

"I don't know. Probably with her new boyfriend."

Chris froze. "Come again?"

Harry half-grimaced, half-smiled. "She's dating Sirius."

"Sirius- as in _Sirius Weasley?_ Her cousin?" Chris was so surprised that he couldn't conceal his reaction.

Harry shrugged. "To be frank, I had the same reaction, but the wizarding world can sometimes be a little…_Victorian_…in their worldview. First cousins get married all the time within the old pureblood families- it's considered old-fashioned, but perfectly acceptable. Besides, they _are _cousins, so it's not incest."

Chris squinted at Harry. Something wasn't quite right, here. "There's something more to this you're not telling me about," He said.

"Honestly? It isn't my secret to tell."

Chris stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. "Well, I'm happy for Lily and Sirius" He said, and then, because his curiosity could not be denied, he asked, "When did all this start?"

"After Lily moved back to Hogwarts," Harry answered, "Sirius and Lily have always been close, but when she came back, they started spending even more time together than usual. And they're both rookies in the Order, so I suppose that strengthened the bond. I never knew, though, until a month ago when she came to me and told me herself. It was something of a shock, as you can imagine."

"I'll bet it was," Chris said, still a little stunned, "That's…wow."

His whitelighter senses hadn't registered a shift in Lily's feelings. Had he not been paying attention again? He wondered. There was no way he could tell with his empathy who she was attracted to, just that she was attracted to someone. Her awkwardness around him had given it away the first time around, but he hadn't seen much of her in the last few months. She had been unrequitedly attracted to him for two and a half years, and he had known it was a pretty serious crush, so he hadn't expected her to get over him so suddenly. But he was happy she had; in fact, he was unspeakably relieved. It was good that she had finally moved on.

…

"So I hear you and Sirius are dating now."

"Oh, yeah, we are." She flushed a little. "He's…uh…we've always been close."

Chris grinned at her embarrassment; thinking how much fun it would be to tease her now, a liberty he could take now that they could finally be real friends, with no invisible elephants present whenever they were in each other's company. "I'm really happy for you," He said, "Was it a torrid affair? Seems a bit sudden..."

She blushed even more. "Yeah, we…talked a lot after I got back from SH-5. I…er…I needed a shoulder to cry on, after everything." She looked away from him then, and he sensed a stab of pain, and something else he from her, but she didn't dwell on it and it was gone before he had a chance to analyze it.

"I'm glad you had someone to help you."

"Yeah, me too. So…" She hesitated. "So we can be friends now, without any awkwardness?"

"Of course."

"Good. Because I missed you."

Once again he picked up on that stab of hurt, and for the first time, Chris regretted the fact that he had distanced himself from Lily over the last few months. He had wanted to spare her of the pain of constantly being in his presence; he hadn't realized that his avoidance might have hurt her in itself.

"I missed you too," He said, his voice an apology.

Her eyes lightened and she smiled at him, and he smiled back.

…

_"Chris!"_ Lily's terrified, pain-filled voice rang through his ears, and instantly, he orbed to her side.

She was lying on a street corner, pinned to the floor by a knife, the hilt of which was protruding from her arm. There were about seven Death Eaters and surprisingly, two Upper Level demons, surrounding her. Apparently, Evil had decided to follow Wyatt and Voldemort's example of working together. The demons shimmered away the second he caught sight of him, obviously more familiar with his reputation than the Death Eaters. The Death Eaters advanced on him with their wands, and rolling his eyes, he waved his hand and orbed their wands out of their hands. Less than a minute later, they were lying unconscious on the floor.

"Lily!" He hurried to her side, his face a mask of concern. "Are you okay?"

"No! I've got a knife stuck in my arm!"

"Sorry, stupid question." He began to probe the wound. "Why the hell didn't you Apparate out?"

"Because they put up- _ow__, bloody hell!__ -_ Anti-Apparition wards. I think they were planning on taking me hostage."

"Typical. I wish they'd come up with more original ideas once in awhile." He exhaled softly. "The good news is that Anti-Apparition wards won't prevent me from orbing. We need to get this knife out of your arm, though."

She nodded and he gripped the hilt. "This might sting a bit."

"Get on with it already- _ahhh__!"_

Her body arched and she let loose a scream as he wrenched the knife out of her arm. He through the knife aside, pressed his hands to her arm…and then he went white. "Oh, shit, it ruptured an artery, hang on for a moment-" He tried to orb them out, and discovered, to his horror, that he couldn't. "Fuck!"

"What?" She asked hoarsely, painfully aware of the blood gushing out from her arm with her every heartbeat.

"I can't orb out!" Chris's voice was tinged with the beginnings of panic. "Those demons must have put up wards to stop me from orbing too- damn it!"

"What…are we going to do?" She gasped out, trying to be stoic. She knew that ruptured arteries were bad, and that she would bleed out if she wasn't healed in the next few minutes.

"We need to get you healed before I can even think of getting out of here," Chris said, "Michael!" He called out. No response. "Michael, Lily's hurt! Damn it, why isn't he answering?"

"We need to get a message to Ian," Lily said, "He's good with wards, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is; I'll just tell-"

_"Expecto Patronum!" _

"Lily, what the hell are you _doing?!"_ He exploded as a silvery white dove blazed out from her good hand, "You don't have the energy to waste, you idiot!"

"Well what would you have done?" She retorted weakly, "Informed Adrian of the situation and told him to find Malfoy? It would have wasted way too much time, especially since Adrian probably doesn't even _know_ where Malfoy is right now. My Patronus will reach him in less than a minute, and hopefully he'll be able to get the wards down in time." She turned to the dove. "Malfoy, this is Lily Potter. Chris and I are trapped by Anti-Apparition and orbing wards somewhere in Birmingham- you can find our exact location on the O-maps. I have a ruptured artery and I have six minutes at most before I bleed out, so you'll have to hurry."

The dove bobbed its head and vanished, leaving Chris staring at Lily. "For someone who might have six minutes to live, that was surprisingly matter-of-fact," He said.

Lily smiled slightly. "Yeah, well, I learned from the best."

She sagged slightly beside him, and he quickly pulled off his jacket and then his shirt, ripping the latter into strips and binding the wound on her hand as tightly as he could. Within seconds, though, it was completely stained with blood.

"You look hot," She said, looking almost stoned as she eyed his bare torso.

"Er…in this weather?" Chris joked weakly.

She moaned a little and reached for his hand, and he took it in his without hesitation. "Michael!" he tried again, "Michael, please! We need your help!"

"Give it up, Chris," She murmured sleepily, "The wards are probably blocking him."

"Lily, you have to stay with me, okay?" Chris said urgently as her eyelids fluttered.

"I'm cold," She whispered, shivering.

He draped his jacket over her and dragged her up into his arms, so that her back was against his chest. "Better?"

"Much," She whispered, laying her head against his shoulder.

They sat in silence for a minute or two. Chris's mind was trained on Malfoy, who had begun to work on the wards- but judging by the frustration Chris could feel emanating from him, it wasn't proving as easy as he had hoped. He looked down at Lily, surprised at the peaceful expression on her face, and realized with dismay that she was falling asleep again.

"What are you thinking about Lily?" He asked.

"I'm thinking about what it would be like to stay like this forever."

She was beginning to slur, he noted worriedly. "What about Sirius?"

"Sirius isn't my boyfriend," She mumbled dismissively, "He's just…" Her words trailed off, her eyes beginning to slip closed.

_Damn it, Ian, hurry!_

"He's just what, Lily?"

She mumbled something he couldn't catch, and he shook her gently, jerking her back to awareness. "Come on, Lily, stay with me."

She turned her face slightly so that she could see his face. "With you? I wish I was strong enough for that, but I'm not." She whispered tiredly, "Loving you hurts too much…knowing that you'll never love me back, hurts too much."

He froze. _Loving you?_ She _loved_ him? No…yes. He recognized that look in her eyes; even without his empathy they would have told him everything. And the way she felt about him, he could sense it; like a warm glow over his heart, and he recognized that, too- it was the real thing- the deep, undying kind of love he had sometimes felt from Bianca in the quiet moments when they'd sat just like this in the privacy of their bedroom.

Crap. Lily loved him. And she was letting herself slip away because she thought he'd never reciprocate…and she was right.

_Damn it, Lily, I'll never forgive myself if something happens to you._

"Lily, I do love you back," He said softly, hating himself for the lie, but knowing it was necessary. He hesitated for a moment before kissing her softly on the temple. "I really do, and I need you to stay with me, because I can't lose you, okay?"

She sighed softly and leaned into him, a smile on her face.

_Fuck. I hate this..._

The blood from her arm had completely soaked his pants.

_Hurry, Ian…_

"I love you," He said again. The lie was getting easier and easier ever time he uttered it. "Stay with me."

She lasted another minute before lapsing into unconsciousness. And then, just as her pulse began to go faint and he was on the verge of panicking for real, he sensed a spurt of relief and jubilation from Ian, and inferred that he'd finally managed to take the wards down. He immediately orbed to SH-5's Sanatorium, setting Lily gently on a bed and standing back as a frantic Michael rushed forward to heal her. He barely heard the whitelighter's hurried explanations about how the wards around the place had kept full whitelighters out.

He waited only until Michael had healed her, and then orbed to his room, completely shaken by the events of the evening. Lily had very nearly _died._ And she _loved_ him. And he would never love her back. She was beautiful, and she was intelligent, and she had an amazing figure-- but he wound never love her back. And he would never hurt her, either; by telling her so.

So what the hell kind of mess did that leave him in? He hadn't a fucking clue.

...

"Lily. I see you're awake."

She tensed visibly. "Hey, Chris." He sat down beside her, and tried to take her hand, but she pulled away at once. "Don't," She said.

He sighed. "Come on, Lily. We need to talk about this."

"No, we don't." She paused, took in a shaky breath. "I know I owe you some explanations about Sirius."

"I have been curious," Chris admitted.

"Sirius is gay," Lily said, and Chris blinked. Whatever he had expected, it hadn't been that. "He and Justin Macmillan have been seeing each other for the last two years. The problem is that the wizarding world can be a bit archaic about homosexuality, and Sirius, well, he's the son of two war heroes, _and_ he's Harry Potter's godson. Simply put, he can't afford to _be_ gay; not with Dad and Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione still running the country. You know they're under enormous pressure already from everyone."

"So…what?" Chris asked, "Sirius asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend so people wouldn't suspect anything?"

"Actually, I offered," She said, "We told Dad the truth, of course, and Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione as well. Uncle Ron took some time to adjust to the idea that Sirius is gay, but he did eventually. As far as everyone else is concerned, we're in a relationship. It's helped Sirius and Justin a lot, too; they don't have to worry nearly as much about people suspecting that they're gay."

"But that wasn't the only reason you offered, right?" Chris persisted.

"No, it wasn't," She admitted, "I was so tired of being embarrassed around you all the time. It was bad enough that I had feelings for you, but you actually being able to sense it every time I so much as chanced to think you looked hot? I couldn't stand that. I hated the things always were between us; I wanted to us be normal. And face it. We became a lot closer and much more comfortable around each other after I'd convinced you that I'd moved on."

He hesitated only for a second before he uttered his most life-altering lie. "Yeah, well, you should have told me the truth from the start," He said slowly, "It would have saved us both a lot of heartache."

"What do you mean?" She asked, giving him a sharp look.

"I mean that if I'd known you weren't seeing somebody else all this time, I'd have told you how I felt about you a lot sooner."

She actually scoffed at him. "Don't bullshit me. I know when you told me you loved me last night you were only doing it to save my life, keep me conscious. I'm not a charity case, and I'm not dying anymore. You don't have to keep lying to me."

"I'm not lying to you,"…he lied to her, "No, I'm not in love with you. But I_ am_ attracted to you, and I want to be more than just your friend. I've wanted that for months, and I would have pursued it, but I thought you were in love with Sirius."

She was still skeptical. "What about Bianca? From what I've heard, she was the love of your life."

Forcing his expression not to change at these words was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but he managed it. "She died four years ago, Lily," He said, "Four years is a long time."

Lily just kept staring at him, unconvinced, but he sensed the hope stirring within her, almost against her will. She wanted to believe him.

"I know this seems sudden," He said, "But it's not. When I first found out you were dating Sirius, I have to admit that I was relieved. The awkwardness between us was gone, and you let your guard down around me, and for the first time, I got to know the real you. Without all the embarrassment and the blushing and all the rest of it." That part was true, at least. "And I fell for you." That part wasn't.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear that," She whispered, her voice choking.

_Actually I do_, He thought somberly,_ That's why I'm doing this._

Her eyes were filled with tears, and her voice was shaking uncontrollably, but she had to say it. "Chris, I won't come out of this in one piece if I find out you're only doing it out of pity, or if I find out you're just messing with me. If that's the case, it then please just tell me _now._ If I find out that you were lying later, I won't survive if it."

"You won't have to," He said, and then walked up to her, not stopping till they were inches away from each other, "Because I'm not lying to you."

_Because you'll never know the truth._

"You'd better not be," She said.

He looked into her tear-filled green eyes, and knew that he had closed a door, and that not even God would be opening any windows for him. He could never look back from this. With that thought in his mind, he bent his head and kissed her on the lips. She tasted soft and sweet and surprisingly good…but she wasn't Bianca. And that was okay, even though it wasn't.

…

"I'm sorry; did you just say you wanted to _marry_ Lily?" Harry exclaimed.

Chris shifted before him, uncomfortable. "Why is that so surprising? You didn't think we'd just keep dating for the rest of our lives?"

"No, I just-" Harry shook his head, still all but gaping at Chris, "I just didn't think you guys were that serious."

Chris stiffened. "I would never mess around like that, Mr. Potter."

"That's not what I meant," Harry backtracked as he saw the hurt look on Chris's face. "It's just, you're _kids._ I honestly thought you were just dating casually; I thought your relationship was more physical than emotional. I know you wouldn't mess around with Lily, Chris. But youngsters today are even worse than they were in my time, so you can't blame me for being surprised."

"Well, I'm completely serious about this, Mr. Potter," Chris said, averting his eyes, "I really do want to marry her. That's why I'm here. I wanted to make sure I had your blessing."

Harry gave him a look that knew entirely too much. "Of course you have my blessing, Chris," He said, "There's no one other man I'd prefer to marry my only daughter…but what about Bianca?"

"Bianca's been dead five years," Chris said harshly, _"You're_ the one who said I would move on eventually, and I have."

"I thought you promised yourself that you'd never lie to me, Chris," Harry said quietly.

Chris flushed. "I'm _not_-"

"Yes, you are. Chris, I _know _who the ring around your neck belongs to."

_Crap. Bianca's ring._

He had never been able to take it off, even though he'd felt guilty about it after he'd started seeing Lily. She had asked about it once, and he'd told her the truth- it was his mother's wedding ring, the last thing he had left of hers. He just hadn't told her who the ring had belonged to _after_ his mother.

"If you're still wearing your dead fiancées wedding ring around your neck, you're still in love with her," Harry continued, his tone even, "So I'll ask you, again. Why do you want to marry Lily?"

"Because she's loved me unrequitedly since she was seventeen years old," Chris blurted out after a short, tense pause, "Because she nearly died in my arms last year, thinking living was pointless when I would never love her back. Because she's one of my closest friends, and she's kind, and beautiful, and intelligent and _perfect._ Because Hope needs a mother. Because I want to make her happy. And because I want to make _you _happy."

Harry shook his head, stricken. "You can't make a sacrifice like that, Chris," He said in a hushed voice.

"It's not a sacrifice," He said. "Make no mistake, if Bianca was here today, I'd choose her over Lily in a heartbeat."

"But…?" Harry prompted.

"But Bianca_ isn't_ here today. She's dead. And Lily loves me the way I love Bianca. If I can't have Bianca, at least Lily can have me."

"That's _really_ messed up," Harry said, stunned by the young man's logic, "You say you're doing this for Lily - how is this not a sacrifice? What are you getting out of this?"

"Companionship. Family. Friendship. Love. Take your pick." Chris smiled slightly. "If you ask me, _Lily's _the one who drew the short straw."

For a long moment, Harry had no idea what to say. Suddenly, impulsively, he reached out and drew Chris into a tight hug. "You're a good man, Chris," He whispered huskily.

"I try," Chris said.

They stayed like that for a few more moments, and then Harry drew away.

"Of course you have my blessing," He said in a much lighter tone, "On one condition."

"What?"

"You have _got_ to stop calling me 'Mr. Potter.' It's _way_ too formal…"

…

It was just after the handfasting, and Chris was feeling not a little overwhelmed by the amount of people that had come to attend. Most of them had been invited out of obligation combined with a desire not to offend, and there were so many of them that the only place big enough for the ceremony had been the Great Hall. It wasn't every day that the son of a Charmed One married the Chosen One's daughter. Tiring of the throngs, Chris muttered something to Lily about checking on security (eliciting an amused remark from her regarding his paranoia), and headed to a curtained alcove; from where he could see but not be seen.

He started when he pulled aside the curtain and saw that someone was already there. "Mr. Potter! I mean, Harry! I didn't know you were here."

"I was feeling a bit overwhelmed," Harry said, "I'm guessing that's why you're here, too?"

"Guilty as charged," Chris said with a sheepish laugh.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.

Harry looked across the packed Great Hall, at all the laughing, jovial people, and then he looked at Chris, standing silently beside him, and felt a sudden pang.

"Can…can I ask you something, Chris?"

"Sure," Chris said.

"Are you happy?"

Chris didn't answer immediately, but looked across the Great Hall. He saw a laughing Lily, looking stunning in white, dancing with Sirius. He saw Snape, sitting quietly in a corner, sipping from a glass of wine and looking more relaxed than Chris had ever seen him. He saw Draco Malfoy and his family talking and laughing together. He saw Hope, trying to reach the ice cream on a too high table, and saw Lily notice her and break away from the dance to serve her a couple of scoops. And suddenly he remembered what Harry had once told him, a long, long time ago, on one of the darkest days of his life.

_"One day, you'll be able to look around you and not think about the people who aren't there, but appreciate the people that are."_

"Yes, Harry," He said, "I think I am."

…

CONCLUDED.

I know some of you won't be thrilled by this ending, and I'll admit that it leaves things at a less than satisfactory place as far as the Chris/Lily relationship is concerned. I honestly believe, however that it is the only thing approaching a happy ending that was possible for Chris with the amount of loss and heartbreak he went through in this story. There are some things you just don't recover from. I think Bianca was Chris's one and only, and I don't think he'll ever love anyone else the same way. I think the mere thought of being with anyone else would feel like a betrayal for him…except when it comes to Lily, who is a special case because of who she is.

Let's examine the facts- Lily is Harry Potter's daughter, as I've said more than once, and Chris cares about Harry, looks up to him as a father. He promised Harry he'd keep Lily safe and wouldn't let any harm come to her; and because of his empathy he can feel how painful it is for her to love him unrequitedly so faithfully and for so long. Obviously he feels guilty about this, especially since she's a good friend and he cares about her. When it's revealed that she never stopped loving him, he realizes that she never will. He also knows he's never going to fall for anyone else. He wants to make her happy, he wants to make Harry happy, and he wants Hope to have a mom. Lily's attractive (which is, face it, important to every young guy, heartbroken or not), intelligent, and a very good friend. So he lies to her about how he feels about her, and then asks her to marry him.

I know die-hard romantics will think of this as a sacrifice on his part, and consider his actions as unfair to both himself and Lily. But bear in mind that in the end, he IS happy, and so is she, and so are Harry and Hope. I don't think with his past it can get better than that.

I'm sorry for this long note justifying this ending, I just thought it wasn't uncalled for considering that everyone had pretty strong opinions on whether or not Chris and Lily should end up together. I'd like to thank you all for the amazing responses this fic got, and for the amazing hit count and review count you all gave me. Also, a special thank you to Warriora for doing such an amazing job beta-reading.

On a side note, I'm not sure about whether or not first cousins marrying is considered incest in the U.S or the U.K. In India, it's taboo and very much discouraged, but it does happen. In fact, I have a distant relative on my mom's side of the family who married her first cousin- it created quite the scandal at the time. I got the impression from sodoto's fanfic "Neurotic" that first cousins marrying isn't considered incest (doesn't Chris's brother have an affair with his cousin?) but of course, I could be wrong. In England, in the Victorian era, I know that first cousins married all the time among the gentry so that they could keep estates within the family, so I know that in the 18th and 19th centuries, it was perfectly acceptable. I know it isn't so now, so I hope I didn't offend anyone.

I'm both happy and sad that this fic is over. It's possibly my best work on this site, and I doubt I'll ever be able to top it, at least in the Charmed fandom. On the other hand, this will free me up to write my Supernatural fanfic, tentatively titled "The Way It Goes." It will be a Pilot AU fic set in Stanford, starring Sam, Dean, Jess and a couple of OCs, and will be about Sam's desire for normality and how it affects the brothers' relationship. Done before, I know, but I promise I'll be original about it. I hope you'll all watch out for it- I hope to start posting in the next few weeks, unless I decide to first finish my LOTR fic, which I'd put on hold until I finished this. But even the LOTR fanfic is nearing it's end, so it shouldn't be too long.

Again, thank you all very much, and I hope to see you again!


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